A 


Recollections  of 
Dublin  Castle  ^ 
of  Dublin  Society 


Recollections  of  * 
Dublin  Castle  # 
of  Dublin  Society 
By  A  Native      *      *     * 


Brentano's,  New  York 
1902 


o 


>  i^nr 

71 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 
&  of  Dublin  Society 

OF  dear,  old,  and  dirty  Dublin — Lady  Mor- 
gan's well-known  description — I  was  a  denizen 
for  forty  years  and  more.  So  I  am  well 
versed  in  all  its  ways,  humours,  delusions, 
and  amiable  deceits,  and  might  claim  to  know 
it  by  heart.  Dear  it  was — old,  certainly ,  and 
dilapidated  beyond  dispute.  As  to  the  dirt, 
it  was  unimpeachable.  No  native,  however, 
was  known  to  admit  any  of  these  blemishes. 

It  is  a  pleasant  and  rather  original  old 
city,  where  people  of  good  spirits  will  find 
plenty  to  entertain  them,  but  offering  one 
enjoyable  characteristic  in  the  general  spirit 
of  "make-believe"  (humbug  is  too  coarse  a 
term)  which  prevails  everywhere.  The  natives 


20G1096 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

will  maintain  against  all  comers  that  it  is  the 
finest  city  going,  and  that  its  society  is  ** second 
to  none,  sir."  Among  themselves  even  there 
is  a  good-natured  sort  of  conspiracy  to  keep  up 
the  fiction,  always  "  making  believe,"  as  much 
as  the  Little  Marchioness  herself.  "  Where, 
my  boy,  would  you  see  such  beautiful  faces  or 
th'  Irish  eyes — don't  tell  me — and  where  'ud  " 
(this  "  'ud  "  is  a  favourite  abbreviation)  "  'ud 
you  hear  such  music,  or  find  such  social  in- 
tercourse, or  such  general  *  divarshions '  ?  "  I, 
like  the  rest,  was  beguiled  by  all  this  and 
believed  in  it  all,  and  it  was  not  until  years 
after  I  had  left  that  the  glamour  dissolved. 
It  was  thus  that  we  used  to  assure  each  other 
that  certain  persons,  trading  in  a  modest  sort 
of  way,  were  "  merchant  princes,  my  boy  "  ; 
that  a  few  professional  people  were  "  leaders 
of  society,"  and  so  on.  All  this  was  harmless 
enough  and  contributed  to  the  general  happi- 
ness. 

The  chief  "  make-believe,"  however,  was 
the  Viceregal  Court,  or  "  Coort,"  that  strange, 


^f  of  Dublin  Society 

theatrical  installation,  whose  tawdry  influence 
affected  everything  in  the  place  down  to  the 
commonest  little  tradesman,  or  to  the  "  Castle 
waiter,"  whose  service  it  was  a  great  comfort 
to  secure,  even  at  a  higher  fee. 

As  I  look  back  across  this  long  stretch  of 
years,  to  what  were  really  very  jocund  days, 
one  scene  rises  before  me  which  seems  highly 
significant,  and  which  furnishes  a  sort  of  key- 
note for  the  various  things  that  I  am  about 
to  recall.  It  was  at  a  concert  in  Dublin — 
at  "  Th'  Ancient  Concert  Rooms."  An 
English  friend  was  staying  with  us,  and, 
not  without  pride,  we  promised  to  take 
him  to  a  Philharmonic  concert,  supposed  to 
be  highly  fashionable  and  exclusive  because 
"  his  Excellency"  and  his  Court  was  to  attend. 
"Th'  Ancient  Concert  Rooms"  was  a  rather 
shabby  tenement  in  Brunswick  Street,  about 
the  size  and  proportions  of  a  moderate  Dis- 
senting chapel ;  but  it  justly  boasted  that  it 
was  the  "  finest  thing  of  the  kind  in  Ireland," 
or  "  Daublin,"  as  the  genteeler  ones  strove  to 
3 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

sound  it.  (There  were  always  numbers  of 
things  that  were  "  the  finest  in  Ireland," 
particularly  that  "fine  animal"  the  horse.) 
We  had  scarce  seated  ourselves  in  "the 
reserved  seats  *'  (little  is  worth  having  in 
this  city  unless  it  be  reserved  for  you  and 
not  for  others),  when  suddenly  there  came  a 
bustle  and  a  fluster.  Every  one  rose  to  his 
feet ;  there  were  agitated  cries  of  "  Here  he 
is  !  He's  coming  !"  and  half  a  dozen  men, 
carrying  white  wands,  appeared,  struggling 
their  way  along  a  very  narrow  gangway.  A 
dapper-looking,  clerk-like  man  came  last, 
wearing  a  star,  following  the  stewards.  This 
was  THE  LORD  LIEUTENANT,  or  the  Lord 
"  Z,*y/nant,"  as  he  was  usually  spoken  of  by 
the  crowd.  He  came  along  bowing  and 
smiling,  and  trying  to  be  as  gracious  as 
he  could.  Following  him  were  the  aides-de- 
camp, or  "  edukongs,"  supercilious  young 
men,  with  blue  silk  facings  to  their  coats 
— sure  and  certain  seal  of  their  office, 
the  blue  being  reverenced,  even  to  all  but 
4 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

prostration,  by  the  society  of  Dublin — behind 
whom  glided  a  number  of  limp,  faded  dames, 
some  veterans,  attired  in  garments  as  faded 
as  their  persons — the  "Ladies  of  the  House- 
hold"— wives  of  the  secretaries,  or  ancients 
who  were  passed  on  from  Government  to 
Government,  and  who  grew  more  firmly  fixed 
as  years  went  on.  It  was  entertaining  to 
see  how  the  suite  behaved,  with  what  an 
air  of  pride,  and  at  the  same  time  of  assumed 
affability,  they  moved  on  in  the  train,  two 
and  two.  In  the  admiring  crowds  which 
lined  the  avenues  they  would  recognise  a 
friend  or  acquaintance,  and  were  not  too 
proud  to  nod.  The  high  officials  of  "the 
Court"  were  very  stern  and  brusque  even. 
They  believed  most  heartily  in  the  whole 
fiction.  This  curious  procession  was  invariably 
repeated  on  every  public  occasion,  and  was 
ever  painfully  followed  by  greedy,  admiring 
eyes.  Three  rows  of  hard  wooden  benches 
rising  above  each  other  under  the  skimpy 
gallery  was  the  august  throne  of  the  Viceregal 
S 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

party.  "God  Save  the  Queen"  was  then 
struck  up,  every  eye  riveted  on  the  great  man 
and  the  group  about  him.  That  procession 
used  to  remind  me  of  those  other  "  tag-rag  " 
processions  which  would  come  on  in  the  grand 
Operas — those  poor  limp  creatures  who  walk 
behind  Marguerite  of  Navarre,  or  some  other 
queen,  in  faded  "  streeling  "  robes.  These 
high  ladies  passed  on  with  a  smiling,  depre- 
cating air — half  ashamed,  half  proud  of  their 
position. 

Well,  to  return  to  my  Englishman.  I 
noticed  that  he  was  gazing  through  his 
monocle  with  unfeigned  astonishment  and 
amusement  at  the  show.  "  Dear  me  !  "  he 
said  at  last,  "  this  is  all  most  astonishing. 
Think  of  that  man  in  London  !  Why,  no 
one  would  turn  their  head  to  look  at  him. 
It's  most  singular  !  "  And  so  it  was.  But 
it  was  the  same  everywhere,  and  on  every 
occasion.  Did  his  carriage  stop  at  a  house, 
a  crowd  gathered,  eager  almost  to  feel  the 
horses,  supposed  with  the  vehicle  to  be  hired 
6 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

from  a  London  job-master.  There  was  a 
story  that  at  one  of  these  concerts,  during 
a  very  cold  season,  a  black  bottle  full  of  hot 
water  was  brought  in,  carried  by  one  of  the 
Viceregal  party,  for  the  benefit  of  one  of  the 
young  ladies.  The  tale  went  about  in  all 
sorts  of  shapes.  "  Wasn't  it  terrible  ?  "  said 
an  old  dame.  "  He  has  grown  so  besotted 
with  drink  that  he  actually  brought  in  his 
brandy-bottle  with  him  to  the  concert !  " 

The  little  scene  I  have  been  describing  is 
significant,  for  the  same  unmeaning  adoration 
permeated  every  class  of  society.  This  theat- 
rical make-believe  of  a  Court  leavened  every- 
thing. Everybody  played  at  this  sham 
Royalty,  and,  I  am  convinced,  firmly  be- 
lieved in  it,  or  fancied  they  did.  The 
"  Kestle "  was  the  cynosure.  To  be  asked 
to  the  "  Kestle,"  to  know  people  at  the 
"  Kestle,"  or  even  to  know  people  who  knew 
people  at  the  "  Kestle,"  was  Elysium  itself  ! 

The  Pinchbeck  beings  of  the  Castle 
naturally  gave  themselves  great  airs,  often 
7 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

ridiculing  those  who  so  venerated  them,  but 
would  condescend  to  accept  any  invitations 
that  were  humbly  offered.  Here  they  could 
star  it.  They  were  the  pure  "  English,  you 
know,"  though  among  them  there  were  a 
few  "  natives,"  of  an  inferior  caste,  and  who 
were  treated  as  such.  These  latter  had  to 
console  themselves  with  the  more  obscure 
circles.  Truly,  as  Thackeray  once  wrote — 
u  A  Court  Kalendar  is  bad  enough,  but  what 
is  it  to  a  sham  Court  Kalendar ! "  It  was  indeed 
said  that  one  dame  had  been  lent  a  little  "box" 
in  the  Park  by  a  former  Lord-Lieutenant, 
beyond  the  memory  of  man  almost,  and  had 
remained  ever  since,  all  attempts  to  dislodge 
her  proving  unavailing. 

The  Castle,  where  this  Card  King  lived, 
was  a  great  centre  of  the  city.  In  my  child- 
hood, boyhood,  youth,  manhood,  I  suppose 
no  word  rang  out  more  loudly  or  more 
frequently  in  one's  ears,  or  inspired  such 
an  awesome  feeling.  Often  I  passed  it ;  often 
was  I  in  it.  There  were  held  the  "  levys," 
8 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

"  draw'n  rooms,"  "  Pathrick's  balls,"  dinners, 
concerts,  and  dances  galore.  You  went  from 
Westmoreland  Street — often  sounded  West- 
morehnd  Street — to  the  Royal  Exchange,  a 
rather  stately  building,  which  brought  you  to 
the  steep"  Cark  Hill,"  /.*.,  Cork  Hill,  on  the 
top  of  which  was  the  awful  enclosure.  It 
was  rather  an  imposing  place,  with  a  great 
gateway  and  a  guard-house  adjoining,  out  of 
which — for  what  reason  Heaven  knows  ! — 
a  large  sort  of  church  steeple  rose.  But  every- 
thing in  Dublin  is  more  or  less  unaccountable. 
The  older  churches  are  mostly  without 
steeples,  while  a  guard-house  has  one.  Within, 
there  is  a  large  and  stately  courtyard,  and  on 
the  left  an  archway,  opening  on  a  second, 
viz.,  "  The  Lower  Kestle  yard  "  ;  though  it 
seems  undignified  to  call  these  august  en- 
closures "  yards."  Round  the  first  court 
were  the  residences  of  the  high  and  mighty 
officers — the  Chamberlain  (minus  "  Lord  ") — 
Comptroller,  all  squeezed,  sorely  cribbed  and 
cabined  into  little  sets  of  rooms,  much  as 
9 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

those  of  smaller  degree  are  at  the  Ambassa- 
dors' Court,  St.  James's  Palace.  It  was  often 
a  pitiable  thing  for  those  poor  creatures, 
wives  and  children — who  had  all  to  "  cram  " 
into  these  straitened  apartments.  Their  wage 
was  miserable  enough,  but  there  was  free 
lodging,  with  occasional  board,  and  it  may  be 
coals  ;  consequently,  these  offices  were  much 
sought  after  by  the  broken-down  peer  or 
baronet,  to  whom  such  quarters  were  an  object ; 
while  the  Lord  Lieutenant  was  glad  to  have 
persons  of  title  about  him.  The  aides-de-camp 
lived  on  their  very  position — on  the  strength 
of  which  they  might  have  been  at  free  board 
every  day  of  their  life.  The  paid  aide — 
this  was  much  insisted  on — had,  I  believe, 
about  j£ioo  a  year,  with  quarters  ;  the  extra, 
nothing. 

And  the  household  ! — that  awe-inspiring 
word  !  There  was  the  "  Private  Secretary," 
the  "  Additional  Private  Secretary,"  and,  odd 
to  say,  "  Assistant  Private  Secretary,"  State 
Steward,  Comptroller,  Gentleman  Usher, 
10 


fef  of  Dublin  Society 

Chamberlain,  and  actually  a  "  Master  of  the 
Horse,"  who  looked  after  the  job-master- 
hired  animals  mentioned  already.  Then  came 
three  paid  aides  and  four  unpaid  ditto.  There 
were  also  "  gentlemen  at  large,"*  and  "  gen- 
tlemen-in-waiting."  There  was  the  "  Physician 
in  Ordinary,"  "  Surgeon  in  Ordinary,"  "  Sur- 
geon to  the  Household,"  "  Surgeon  Oculist," 
and  "  Surgeon  Dentist."  These  last  were  en- 
titled to  appear  at  the  levees  and  to  be  so 
announced,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  to  walk 
in  the  tag,  rag,  and  bob-tail  procession. 

A  nice  lady  friend  of  my  own,  suffering  from 
toothache,  hurried  to  her  dentist,  and  sent  in  her 
name.  "  Is  it  see  you  to-day,  Ma'am  ?  It's 
quite  unpossible.  Isn't  he  upstairs  undressin' 
himself  to  go  to  the  levy  ?  "  This  was  actually 
the  "  state  dentist,"  a  sort  of  humorist,  who 
spent  half  his  time — and  the  patient's — in  tell- 
ing droll  stories,  walking  about  the  room,  &c., 
the  other  candidates  waiting  patiently  in  the 

*  Little  Lowry  Balfour  was  a  permanent  gentleman 
at  large,  taken  over  as  in  an  inventory. 
ii 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

parlour,  but  to  be  by-and-by  entertained  in 
like  manner,  and  to  keep  other  people  waiting. 
This  system  extends  to  a  good  many  other 
things  in  the  country. 

The  Castle  was  full  of  a  number  of  ancient 
retainers  who  were  kept  "  on  the  establish- 
ment "  almost  to  their  dissolution,  or  from 
the  sheer  force  of  actual  occupation.  When 
the  disastrous  news  of  an  impending  change 
of  government  was  in  the  air  a  sort  of 
panic  set  in,  and  the  retinue,  generally, 
"  trembled  in  its  boots."  The  older  retainers, 
however,  knew  pretty  well  they  were 
fairly  secure,  for  the  new  figure-head  felt  that 
he  must  have  experienced  persons  about  him 
who  "  knew  the  ways  of  the  place  ;  "  these 
persons  had,  moreover,  powerful  friends  in 
their  old  employers,  who  would  good- 
naturedly  "  say  a  word "  in  favour  of  the 
old  hand.  "  He  has  been  there  these  thirty 
years,  and  is  popular  with  the  natives.  It 
would  break  his  heart  were  he  turned  out." 
And  so,  almost  invariably,  they  kept  their 

12 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

ground,  saying  perhaps — only  it  was  long 
before  that  famous  speech  was  uttered — "  J'y 
suis  et  fy  reste" 

Two  officers  of  state  it  was  almost  impossi- 
ble to  dispense  with — the  Comptroller  or 
Major  Domo,  who  knew  all  the  ways  and 
wiles  and  perhaps  tricks  of  the  Dublin  trades- 
men— what  was  the  "  right  thing  "  to  order, 
how  much  to  be  saved,  what  amount  of 
dinners  were  to  be  given,  and  so  on.  The 
Court  was  an  expensive  one,  and  the  unhappy 
nobleman  felt  he  would  be  a  victim  to 
pillage  unless  he  were  protected.  The  other 
office  was  that  of  Chamberlain,  which,  as  may 
be  imagined,  was  one  of  extraordinary  diffi- 
culty and  delicacy.  For  no  one  could  conceive 
the  pressure  that  was  put  upon  this  official, 
the  persuasions,  wheedling,  intimidation ;  and 
to  secure — what  ?  An  invitation  to  a  ball, 
concert,  or  dinner.  It  seemed  a  matter  of  life 
and  death.  People  unblushingly  asked  to  be 
asked.  A  refusal  brought  unbounded  anger, 
rage  even  ;  with  hints  as  to  vengeance  at  the 
13 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

next  election.  Often  mistakes  were  made,  and 
highly  desirable  and  suitable  folks  affronted. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary,  therefore,  to  have 
a  well-experienced  official,  who  knew  the  whole 
awkward  business  by  heart  as  it  were,  who 
could  soothe  and  hold  out  promises,  and  at 
the  proper  season  assume  "  a  high  tone." 
He  should  know  every  one — who  they  were 
and  what  their  claims.  It  was  impossible, 
therefore,  that  a  new  man  could  be  of  much 
assistance  ;  rather,  it  was  certain  he  would 
"  get  us  into  a  scrape." 

Among  these  superannuated  worthies  was 
old  Colonel  Willis,  who  dated  from  the  days 
of  Lord  Mulgrave  (later  Lord  Normanby), 
and,  I  believe,  held  on  till  his  death.  He 
was  Comptroller,  I  think  ;  I  see  him  now, 
with  his  grey  head  and  blue  coat — a  veritable 
retainer — talking  of  the  good  old  times,  and 
perhaps  the  butt  of  the  new  men.  Who  of 
those  times — 'tis  forty  years  since — will  forget 
the  jovial  Captain  Williams,  "  Bob  Williams," 
as  he  was  invariably  known  ?  Every  one 


^f  of  Dublin  Society 

knew  and,  I  fancy,  liked   Bob.     He,  too,  I 
think,  dated  from  the  Normanby  days,  had 
married   a   beautiful    daughter    of    a    local 
solicitor  of  good  family — which  was  destined 
to  have  an  extraordinary  rise  in  the  world. 
For    another    of    the    sisters   married    first 
a  baronet,  and  at  last  actually  carried  off  the 
Viceroy  himself,  Lord  Fortescue — an  extra- 
ordinary  coup    indeed.     Nor    was    this   all. 
"Bob's"  daughter  was  married  to  the  present 
Duke  of  Wellington,  while  a  third  espoused 
a  baronet.     A  very  fortunate  "record"  this 
for  a  Dublin  solicitor's  family.    Bob  Williams 
was  story-collector  to  the  Court,  and,  having 
an  appreciation  of  the  native  Irish,  was  con- 
stantly   repeating   things   he   had  picked  up 
in  social  life.     He  made  a  particular  study 
of  the  numerous  fat  and  vulgar  women  who 
pervaded  the   place,    always    treating    them 
with  much  gravity  and  sympathy,  and  thus 
"  drawing  them    out."     These  poor  dames, 
touched  and  proud  at  his  notice,  responded 
heartily.     He  was  a  good-humoured  fellow, 
15 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

too,  and  could  bear  a  joke  at  his  own 
expense,  of  which  there  were  plenty  afloat. 

C ,  the  ex-chaplain,  a  hearty  friend  and 

admirer  of  his,  was  perpetually  repeating 
Bob's  adventures,  and  what  traps  he  had 
fallen  into.  One  of  these  I  recall,  and  it 
was  amusing  in  its  way.  Once  in  "  Stephen's 
Green"  the  carnage  of  a  stout  dame  was  in 
some  trouble,  owing  to  restive  horses,  when 
Bob,  who  was  passing  by,  gallantly  rushed 
forward  to  offer  his  aid.  He  rescued  the  lady 
and  her  daughters,  and  helped  to  get  the 
horses  right ;  then  went  on  to  the  United  Ser- 
vice Club,  where  he  was  presently  relating  his 
exploits — with  variations  and  additions — to  a 
large  group  of  his  friends.  "  And  her  gra- 
titude, my  boys  !"  he  went  on.  "  I  shouldn't 

be  surprised  if  she  left  me ."     At  this 

moment  a  little  Irish  page,  in  a  queer  coat 
and  large  hat,  came  in,  led  up  to  Bob  by  the 

servant.     "  Lady says  she  lost  her  purse 

when  ye  helped  her  out  of  the  carriage  ;  and 

please,  she  says,  do  yez  know  anything  about 

16 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

it  ?  "     We  may  conceive  the  roar  that  greeted 
Bob. 

Another  of  these  regularly  "  passed  on " 
veterans  was  Everard — Captain  Walling 
Everard — a  sort  of  eternal  Private  Secretary 
to  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  No  matter  who 
came  or  who  went,  the  cheerful  Everard  always 
"  went  on  for  ever."  I  knew  him  well,  and 
found  him  always  good-natured  and  friendly. 
He  was  supposed  to  know  many  things  :  for 
the  Viceregal  post-bag  always  brought  the 
most  singular  mysteries,  with  applications 
from  the  most  unexpected  sort  of  people. 
However,  he  was  discretion  itself,  consider- 
ing himself  from  long  residence  a  regular 
inhabitant  of  the  place.  Adroitly  enough, 
instead  of  taking  any  airs,  he  cultivated 
sympathetic  relations  with  the  natives,  whose 
dinners,  on  a  small  and  friendly  scale,  he  was 
glad  to  partake  of.  He  had  thus  a  circle  of 
personal  friends,  and  I  suspect  was  rather 
looked  down  upon  as  vieux  jeu  by  his  mates. 
The  ex-chaplain  had,  I  think,  been  quartered 
17  B 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

upon  him  as  "  an  extra-assistant  secretary," 
and  I  fancy  made  the  quiet  and  old-fashioned 
principal  not  a  little  uncomfortable  by  his 
sarcastic  tongue  and  raillery.  Everard  had 
built  up  quite  a  local  reputation  by  his  acting 
and  figured  largely  in  the  yearly  performances 
given  by  the  Garrison.  He  was  good  in 
Buckstonian  parts,  where  his  exceedingly  quiet 
drollery  used  to  produce  an  effect.  Indeed,  he 
carried  the  thing  so  far  as  to  become  perfectly 
placid,  doing  little  more  than  repeat  the 
words.  The  public,  however,  was  enchanted  ; 
the  look  of  the  man  was  enough,  and  they 
supplied  the  rest. 

These  Garrison  ^mature  Theatricals — such 
was  often  the  pronunciation — were  always 
given  during  Lent  at  the  little  theatre  in 
Brunswick  Street,  "  The  Queen's."  This  was 
a  small,  poorish  place,  the  "  boxes  "  having 
only  a  couple  of  stinted  rows :  stalls  were  not 
as  yet.  Yet  the  ardour  for  seats  was  extra- 
ordinary. Everard  was  manager,  leading 
comic  man,  rehearser  and  everything.  I  was 
18 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

present  when  some  lady  and  her  daughters 
forced  their  way  into  his  room  to  get 
him  to  grant  them  tickets  "  for  one  night 
only,"  for  every  one  had  to  subscribe  for  the 
set  of  four.  Their  plea  was  an  odd  one. 
"  Ah  !  Captain,  sure  you  know  we're  Catholics 
and  can't  go  in  Lent.  Only  on  this  one  night, 
which  is  outside  the  Lent,  d'ye  understand." 
They  pressed  him  so  hard  that  at  last  he  said  : 
"  Well,  if  you  will  give  me  in  writing  your 
solemn  word  of  honour  that  you  will  not  go 
to  a  single  party  or  ball  during  the  Lent 
you  shall  have  the  ticket."  The  ladies,  thus 
"  cornered,"  got  quite  confused  and  angry, 
and  flustered  out.  "  They  were  not  going 
to  lose  their  balls  for  the  fellow.  Like  his 
impudence ! " 

There  was  one  gala  performance  of  Henry 
IV.  at  the  old  Theatre  Royal  in  which 
our  Everard  vastly  distinguished  himself  as 
FalstafF.  This  theatre  was  a  very  fine  house 
indeed,  only  a  size  or  so  smaller  than  Drury 
Lane  and  built  by  the  same  architect.  It  had 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

a  very  grand  and  spacious  stage  with  a  vast 
arch,  from  which  descended  the  good  old 
green  curtain  in  swelling  folds,  always  an 
addition  to  stage  illusion.  It  covered  a  great 
deal  of  ground,  having  a  large  enclosure  in 
front,  with  colonnades  and  dwelling-houses 
attached  for  the  officials.  It  was,  however,  in 
a  sad  state  of  decrepitude,  but  rather  grand 
in  its  decay.  It  had  fine  traditions,  nearly 
every  performer  and  singer  of  eminence 
having  strutted  his  or  her  hour  on  its  boards. 
I  have  heard  Sir  Henry  Irving,  Sir  Squire 
Bancroft,  and  others  speak  with  an  affectionate 
admiration  of  the  pleasure  they  had  in  per- 
forming there.  There,  too,  have  I  heard  Grisi 
and  Mario  and  Lablache  sing  to  tumultuous 
applause.  I  have  seen  Taglioni  dance — totter, 
rather — in  her  decay,  bien  entendu  ;  have  heard 
Patti,  Piccolomini,  Macready,  the  Keans.  A 
"  grand  stair  "  led  up  to  the  boxes,  and  there 
was  a  grander  saloon.  One  day  about  two 
o'clock,  during  the  run  of  a  pantomime,  news 
spread  through  the  City  that  the  old  "  Royal  " 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

was  afire.  The  hapless  stage  manager,  one 
Egerton  by  name,  had  been  at  our  house  that 
very  morning  in  reference  to  some  amateur 
performance,  and  rushed  to  his  theatre  when 
he  heard  the  news  ;  he  never  came  out,  but 
was  burnt  to  a  cinder. 

I  must  say  a  word  of  "  Old  Granby,"  as  he 
was  called,  the  stage  manager  at  the  Theatre 
Royal.  He  was  one  of  the  good  old  school 
in  the  Haymarket  time,  the  school  of  Buck- 
stone,  Howe,  Chippendale,  and  Co.,  with 
whom  Granby  was,  as  it  were,  brought  up. 
He  was  the  legitimate  old  testy  father  and 
disinheriting  uncle.  He  had  a  red  face,  a 
stout  neck  and  body,  and  a  thick,  unctuous 
voice — so  necessary  for  such  parts.  As  the 
Haymarket  broke  up  gradually,  there  was  no 
place  for  old  Granby,  and  he  was  glad  to  get 
this  berth  with  Harris  at  Dublin. 

I  have  a  very  early  recollection  of  Sir 
Henry  Irving,  certainly  some  forty  years 
back.  Miss  Herbert,  with  her  delightful 
company,  was  at  the  Theatre  Royal  doing  the 

21 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

old  comedies.  I  was  getting  a  newspaper  one 
afternoon  at  a  shop  near  the  theatre,  kept  by 
a  good-humoured  buxom  lady,  when  two 
young  men  came  in,  both  arrayed  in  rather 
rusted  black,  tight-fitting  garments,  and  both 
yellow  of  complexion.  One  was  most  pictu- 
resque with  his  floating  dark  hair,  altogether 
suggesting  Jingle  ;  the  other  was  a  good- 
looking  fellow  enough  ;  but  both  had  the 
regular  Dickens  air.  When  they  had  gone 
out  I  asked  the  shop  lady  about  them — was 

not    one  Mr.  ,  the   leading  comedian? 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said  carelessly,  "  but  he's 
nothing  at  all.  Ah !  Mr.  Irving's  the 
one,"  she  added  with  a  languishing  look. 
"  And  who  is  Mr.  Irving  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Oh, 
the  nicest,  most  perfect  gentleman,  so  clever, 
and  charming  in  every  way  !  Comes  in  every 
morning,  himself,  for  his  penny  paper."  The 
other  was  a  far  more  important  person  in  every 
way  :  yet  see  how  the  charm  of  Irving  had 
thus  worked,  even  in  this  humble  quarter. 
His  son,  H.  B.,  is  almost  a  replica  of  his  sire 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

as  he  appeared  at  this  time.  Never,  indeed, 
was  man,  or  Englishman  rather,  so  physically 
adapted  to  the  profession,  or  so  strikingly 
fashioned.  I  little  thought  then  that  I  should 
come  to  be  a  friend  of  his,  or  that  he  would 
rise  to  such  eminence.  I  also  "  mind  "  the 
days  when  the  facetious  Johnny  Toole  was 
the  regular  first  "  comic  man  "  at  the  little 
Queen's  Theatre  in  Great  Brunswick  Street. 
He  remained  there  for  a  long  time.  Robson 
also  served  his  apprenticeship  in  Dublin  at 
both  the  theatres  for  a  number  of  years. 
I  was  amused  one  day  to  hear  an  English 
friend  say  in  the  full  flush  of  Robson's  success, 
"  Why,  he  was  for  years  in  Dublin,  and  your 
stupid  people  never  found  him  out."  The 
truth  was,  that  he  was  "  found  out  "  almost  at 
once,  and  was  generally  followed  and  admired. 
It  was,  in  fact,  to  his  Dublin  success  that  he 
owed  his  town  engagement.  Harris's  leading 
"June  Preemier,"  as  I  have  heard  it  called,  was 
a  gentlemanly  young  actor  of  good  presence, 
named  Sydney  Bancroft,  the  present  Sir  Squire, 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

He,  too,  was  there  many  years.  He  was  ad- 
mirable, giving  the  young-lover  parts  just 
sufficient  emphasis. 

I  had  much  enjoyment  out  of  our  Theatre 
Royal.  I  even  recall  the  time  when  it  had 
its  regular  stock  company — old  Barrett,  a 
racy,  crusted  comedian,  and  the  Ternan 
family,  one  of  whom  is  named  in  Box's 
will.  I  had  a  sort  of  subscription  to  the 
good  old  house,  which  was  arranged  in  a  very 
singular  but  very  ingenious  way.  There  was 
an  ironmonger  who  had  bought  up  "  for  a 
song  "  numbers  of  the  old  debentures  ;  he 
divided  each  debenture  into  six  parts — a 
night  for  each — and  for  thirty  shillings  I 
bought  one  of  these,  which  gave  admission 
for  one  night  in  the  week  all  the  year  round 
— not  a  bad  bargain.  Charles  Kean,  who 
was  much  entertained  in  Dublin,  used  to  tell 
good  stories  of  his  Irish  adventures.  As  at 
Limerick,  when  he  was  playing  Hamlet,  a 
sort  of  popular  buffoon  in  a  hunting  cap 
made  absurd  speeches,  causing  roars  of 
H 


fif  of  Dublin  Society 

laughter.  In  an  agony  at  having  to  go 
back  to  his  Hamlet  monologues  after  such 
an  interruption,  he  gave  the  man  money  to 
go  away.  But  after  the  next  act  the  crowd 
roared  for  their  favourite.  The  fellow  came 
out  :  "  Bedad,  I  cant,  boys  ;  I'm  ped  by 
Cain  not  to."  Another  of  Charles  Kean's 
stories  was  of  the  same  theatre,  where  an 
actress  much  advanced  towards  maternity 
was  singing  plaintively  the  song  in  The 
Stranger,  "  I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here." 
On  its  repetition  some  one  in  the  gallery 
called  out :  "  Faix,  and  it'll  soon  spake  for 
itself."  In  those  days  Kean  used  to  come 
attended  by  the  pleasing  Ellen  Tree  as  his 
"  leading  lady."  I  well  remember  the  great 
interest  excited  when  it  was  known  that  the 
pair  had  been  married  that  very  morning. 
And  they  actually  appeared  that  night 
together  as  Benedick  and  Beatrice  in  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing.  Needless  to  say,  their 
a  propos  jests,  "  When  I  said  I  would  die  a 
bachelor,"  etc.,  were  taken  up  and  hugely 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

relished.  John  Kemble,  it  is  said,  on  the 
day  of  his  marriage  forgot  all  about  it,  and 
had  to  be  fetched  from  the  theatre. 

But  the  most  inspiring  of  these  visits,  the 
impression  of  which  I  have  never  yet  for- 
gotten, though  it  is  a  good  fifty  years  since, 
was  the  apparition  of  the  truly  classical  Helen 
Faucit.  I  see  it  all  vividly  now  ;  the  night 
comes  back  upon  me  with  all  its  charm  and  fair 
colouring.  Oh,  how  enraptured  we  all  were, 
for  it  was  Antigone,  with  the  temples,  and  the 
choruses,  and  the  classical  dresses,  and  the 
more  classical  head — a  noble  one — of  the 
fair  Helen.  How  we  followed  every  note 
of  that  tender,  most  musical  voice,  chaunt 
rather,  which  wound  its  way  into  the  very 
soul  !  That  classical  vision  haunted  my 
boyish  dreams  for  weeks,  and  does  still, 
especially  the  mournful  cadences  of  her  ex- 
quisite voice,  the  noble  gestures,  and  her 
grand  declamation.  It  seemed  some  super- 
natural figure  lent  temporarily  to  this  base 
earth.  Never  since  have  I  understood  in  the 
26 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

same  way  the  solemnity  of  the  Greek  play. 
I  lately  found  in  an  old  diary  a  youthful 
critique  written  on  this  far-off  performance, 
and  reflecting  the  almost  passionate  en- 
thusiasm she  inspired. 

"  When  the  curtain  drew  up  and  showed 
the  classic  background  and  pillars  of  the 
Greek  Theatre,  even  then  I  began  to  have 
a  sense  of  mystery  and  awe,  inspired  by 
reading  the  play  ;  and  was  prepared,  too,  by 
the  passionate  introduction  of  Mendelssohn's 
music.  But  when  she  came  forth,  looking  a 
very  Grecian  maid,  her  slow  and  graceful 
walk,  the  classical  marbleness  of  her  features, 
her  hair  gathered  to  perfection  in  the  Grecian 
knot  by  a  fillet,  this  completed  the  enchant- 
ment. A  tinge  of  deep  melancholy  pervaded 
the  whole  character,  from  her  first  word  to 
the  last,  as  though  she  were  one  doomed.  Her 
dress,  too,  the  pure  white  under-robe  edged 
with  gold  and  the  crimson-and-gold  embroi- 
dered pallium,  which  she  would  disperse  at 
times  in  graceful  attitudes,  one  time  resting 
27 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

it  on  the  back  of  her  head  like  a  mantilla, 
another  time  letting  it  droop  down  to  her 
feet !  And  then  the  sweet  smile  of  resigna- 
tion as  she  stood  waiting  condemnation  !  '* 

And  what  a  contrast  when  at  the  close  of 
the  night  she  reappeared  as  Mrs.  Bracegirdle 
— the  captivating  old-time  actress,  who  had 
turned  the  head  of  the  city  youth,  and  at  the 
suit  of  his  old  father  proceeded  to  cure  him 
of  his  passion  by  disgusting  him  !  I  saw 
this  piece  not  long  since,  very  fairly  done 
by  Miss  Terry  ;  but  with  the  unapproach- 
able Helen,  bless  you  !  it  was  another  thing 
altogether.  It  was  spiritualised.  No  wonder 
that  there  was  a  young  man  in  the  city,  an 
artist,  whom  she  had  more  than  fascinated, 
and  who,  well  inspired,  drew  several  classical 
portraits  of  her  in  her  great  character.  He 
lived  till  recent  times,  and  outlived  her — 
the  rather  wiry,  grey-bearded  Sir  Frederick 
Burton,  Director  of  the  National  Gallery. 
He  was  a  superior  artist,  and  his  "Blind 
Girl  at  the  Holy  Well"  was  a  picture  that 
28 


<§?  of  Dublin  Society 

excited  much  admiration.  It  was  engraved 
and  sold  largely.  But  he  was  encountered  in 
his  suit  by  a  rival  of  superior  prospects, 
whom  I  saw  recently — Sir  Theodore  Martin, 
a  man  of  many  gifts,  poet,  satirist,  critic, 
biographer  of  the  Prince  Consort,  and  who 
has  recently  told  the  story  of  his  brilliant 
wife's  life.  He  was  to  carry  the  day  ;  he 
was  a  better  match.  It  was  said,  however, 
that  after  all  was  settled  the  swain  became 
less  enthusiastic.  There  was  even  a  third 
candidate  later,  Sir  W.  Wilde.  It  was  curious 
that  these  three  suitors  should  have  become 
knights.  But  Wilde  she  would  not  look  at. 
Such  was  this  youthful  dream. 

But  how  painful  a  disillusioning  was  to 
await  me  !  A  score  of  years  ago,  when 
Irving  was  in  the  early  flush  of  his  triumphs, 
he  persuaded  Lady  Martin,  as  she  had  then 
become,  to  emerge  from  her  retirement,  and 
play  with  him  in  King  Rene's  Daughter. 
Here  was  a  combination,  and  there  were 
great  expectations.  Now  shall  we  see  the 
29 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

fine  old  school  of  acting  revived,  and  my 
old  vision  of  beauty  descend  once  more  to 
earth.  But  what  a  shock  !  An  ancient 
dame,  with  a  hard  and  tuneless  voice,  and 
such  superannuated  methods,  almost  gro- 
tesque !  If  this  were  the  old  school — but  the 
truth  was,  that  there  had  virtually  been  a  sub- 
stitution. The  old  Helen  had  gone  for  ever, 
long  since.  This  was  but  an  attempted  copy. 
I  will  say  no  more — it  was  painful  to  think  of. 
There  was  yet  another  to  whom  the  Castle 
was  as  the  breath  of  his  nostrils  and  its 
savour  more  delicious  than  incense — to  wit, 
Sir  Bernard  Burke,  Ulster  King  of  Arms. 
How  familiar  was  his  little  chirruping,  cock- 
sparrow  figure,  his  bright,  round  face  ;  and 
with  what  reverence  used  he  to  roll  out  the 
sacred  words,  "  Their  Ex-cellen-cies  !  "  I 
believe  that  he  looked  on  Lord  Lieutenants 
and  their  ceremonials  as  something  super- 
natural. What  a  thoroughly  good-natured 
soul  he  was  !  He  was  always  ready  with 
some  little  service.  But  his  grand  display 
30 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

was  when  Knights  were  to  be  installed  and  he 
went  fluttering  about  in  his  Tabard  or  Blue 
Mantle  of  St.  Patrick.  He  sometimes,  in 
his  flutterings,  made  mistakes.  It  was  to 
him,  I  believe,  that  the  rude,  rough  Whately 
said,  on  some  mistake  being  made  as  to 
heraldic  precedence,  "  Why,  sir,  you  don't 
even  understand  the  foolish  rules  of  your  own 
foolish  business."  One  of  the  grandest  galas 
he  had  ever  to  do  with  was  the  installation  of 
his  present  Majesty  as  Knight  of  St.  Patrick's, 
under  the  rule  of  "  Th'  Abercorns."  It  was 
"  a  great  day  for  Ireland  entirely,"  and  the 
pageant  was  uncommonly  well  done.  Vast 
and  costly  preparations  were  made  which 
took  up  months ;  the  Cathedral,  so  lately 
restored,  was  gutted,  as  it  were. 

The  scene  at  the  moment  of  Investiture 
was  most  effective.  A  goodly  show  of  the 
Lordly  Knights  were  "  whipped  up  "  so  as  to 
form  a  procession.  There  had  been  misgiv- 
ings, for  the  "  show "  entailed  the  purchase 
of  costly  robes  of  blue,  well  embroidered, 
31 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

which  many  of  these  well-encumbered  nobles 
could  not  afford.     But  it  was  managed. 

Another  painted  butterfly  that  fluttered 
about  the  Castle  was  Colonel  Doyle,  an  airy 
dandy  in  a  state  of  wonderful  preservation, 
mainly  owing  to  his  own  persistent  exertions. 
The  painting,  indeed,  was  more  than  figura- 
tive. Who  can  forget  the  dapper  thin  glossy 
hair,  the  pink  enamelled  face,  the  gay,  youth- 
ful manner  and  brisk  motion  ?  There  were 
endless  stories  about  Doyle  and  his  innocent 
absurdities. 

Two  officers  at  the  club  door  were  dis- 
puting with  a  carman  as  to  his  fare,  and 
his  "chaff"  quite  overpowered  them.  They 
sent  in  for  Doyle,  the  ancient  dandy,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  "  a  hand "  at  this 
sort  of  thing.  He  began  on  the  man,  who 
at  once  "  countered  "  him.  "  What  are  you 
spaking  about,  old  chap  ?  Sorra  a  back 
tooth  you  have  in  your  head  this  moment." 
This  happy  guess  quite  discomfited  the  old 
buck,  who  at  once  retired. 
32 


3§f  of  Dublin  Society 

I  was  told  by  Tom  Rice-Henn — "  little 
Tommy  Henn  "  he  was  always  called — of  his 
meeting  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  or 
Lytton  Bulwer,  at  a  dinner  party  in  Dublin. 
The  great  man  was  coldly  reserved,  and 
took  little  notice  of  anybody.  The  subject 
of  Oxford  Prose  Poems  being  started, 
"Tommy,"  by  some  chance,  recalled  a 
striking  passage  in  Bulwer's  own  poem,  en- 
titled "  Fame,"  I  think,  and  quoted  the  lines 
with  much  spirit.  Bulwer,  much  flattered, 
was  enchanted,  devoted  himself  to  the  reciter 
for  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  made  him 
promise  to  come  and  see  him. 

It  was  wittily  said  of  him  that  his  name 
should  be  translated  "  Poulet  au  riz"  The 
Dublin  nicknames  were  often  very  superior, 
such  as  that  of  a  stout  Mrs.  Pope,  who  was 
dubbed  "  Papal  Aggression."  Another,  whose 
name  was  Louisa,  was  called  "  Unlimited 
Loo."  The  two  musical  brothers  with  stiff 
collars  were  known  as  "  Collard  and  Collard." 
One  lady  was  "  Bet  Bouncer "  ;  another, 
33  c 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

"  Palpitating  Poll."  A  little  Lord  always 

following  Mrs.  was  dubbed  "  The 

Widow's  Mite,"  and  so  on. 

Apropos  of  these  ancient  officials,  the  Mas- 
tership of  the  Horse  has  been  held  immovably 
and  irremovably,  I  suppose,  for  some  forty 
years  or  so  by  a  veteran  retainer,  Colonel 

F ,  "  the  man  with  the  lock,"  as  he  used 

to  be  spoken  of,  from  his  carriage  of  a  promi- 
nent curl  which  fell  over  his  fine  eye.  I 
believe  it  does  so  still,  and  that  its  owner  still 
blooms  and  flourishes  and  makes  a  brave 
show,  youthful  and  spry  as  ever.  That  lock 
did  much  havoc,  causing  strife  and  jealousies. 

The  Commissioners  of  the  City  Police  had 
for  me  a  certain  interest  from  their  very 
names  and  connections.  One  who  held  the 
office  long,  long  ago,  was  Colonel  Browne, 
who  was  the  brother  of  the  once  admired 
poetess,  Felicia  Hemans.  He  was  reputed 
to  be  somewhat  "  close  "  in  his  entertainments, 
and  some  of  his  friends  gave  him  a  very 
practical  hint  as  to  this.  He  had  invited 
34 


®P  of  Dublin  Society 

them  on  his  birthday,  entertaining  them  with 
a  very  modest  display,  especially  in  the  way 
of  wine.  Some  wag  rose  to  give  his  health, 
and  in  a  speech  of  simulated  enthusiasm  called 
for  "  Highland  honours  !  "  Not  only  were 
the  glasses  "  charged,"  but  every  one  was 
flung  over  their  heads  and  shivered  to  pieces, 
the  process  being  accompanied  by  a  torrent 
of  affectionate  congratulations.  The  agonies 
of  the  host  were  terrible.  The  other  Com- 
missioner was  Colonel  Lake  of  Kars,  an 
amiable,  much-liked  man,  always  in  demand 
at  the  innumerable  dinners.  It  seems  extra- 
ordinary nowadays  that  such  a  hero  should 
not  have  been  a  K.C.B.  He  was  given  only 
this  inappropriate  post. 

The  "  Levy-day,"  as  it  was  called,  was  "  a 
great  time  entirely."  There  was  a  complacent 
illusion  abroad  that  unless  you  presented  your- 
self at  Court  your  absence  would  be  acutely 
felt  and  might  be  remarked  upon  when  you 
came  to  press  for  advancement.  Accordingly 
35 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

it  became  a  sort  of  duty  to  "  go  to  the  levy  ;" 
barristers,  doctors,  merchants,  all  prepared 
themselves.  Many  people  hired  their  court 
suit,  dreadfully  venerable  garments  already 
worn  by  scores  of  people.  The  charge,  I 
think,  was  two  guineas  "  for  both  occasions," 
i.e.,  levy  and  drawing-room.  The  needy 
barrister  would  often  "  club "  with  two  or 
three  others  in  a  cab,  and  thus  the  quartette 
would  wend  their  way  to  the  Castle.  It  was 
said,  indeed,  that  a  pair  have  been  known  to 
"  club  "  for  the  hired  suit,  one  going  early, 
returning,  and  divesting  himself  of  the  gar- 
ments in  good  time  for  the  other  to  don 
them.  The  **  draw'n-room,"  however,  was 
quite  a  brilliant  spectacle,  a  perfect  gala,  well 
worth  seeing  and  enjoying.  For  weeks  before, 
every  milliner  in  the  place,  the  Mannings, 
Forrests,  e  tutti  quanti,  were  hard  and  fast 
at  it,  working  double  tides,  designing  and 
perfecting  rich  and  expensive  dresses  with 
trains  of  inordinate  length,  Dublin  folk 
used  to  know  well  this  Mrs.  Manning  of 
36 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

Grafton  Street,  a  milliner  of  genius  and  well 
up-to-date.  She  had  a  great  clientele  all  over 
Ireland  and  even  in  London.  It  always  struck 
me  that  she  was  like  Madame  Mantalini  in 
the  story  and  had  very  much  her  lofty 
ways. 

Another  modiste,  who  later  became  a  sort  of 
rival,  was  one  Mrs.  Sims,  in  favour  with  her 
present  Majesty,  who  at  one  time  patronised 
her  work.  Mrs.  Sims  used  to  relate  long 
histories  of  her  visits  to  Marlborough  House 
and  of  the  good-natured  affability  of  her 
august  employer,  with  many  a  "  Now,  Mrs. 
Sims,  I  want  you  to — &c."  On  the  morning 
after  the  "  draw'n-room "  the  papers  had 
columns  describing  the  dresses  of  the  ladies, 
as  thus  :  "  Mrs.  O'Toole,  of  Castle  O'Toole, 
Co.  Cork,  a  rich  moire  white  silk  bodice  and 
skirt,  with  train  to  match,  skirt  covered  with 
the  best  appliquee  lace,  feathers,  lappets,  and 
diamonds.  Miss  O'Toole,  same  ;  Miss  Mary 
O'Toole  (first  presentation),  same  as  her 
sister."  And  in  another  part  of  the  paper  : 
37 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

"  We  understand  that  Mrs.  O'Toole's  striking 
costume,  which  excited  such  admiration  at  the 
recent  drawing-room,  was  not  made  in  London, 
but  was  (exclusive)  from  the  tasteful  atelier  of 

Mrs. ,  &c." 

At  these  drawing-rooms  the  Viceroy  en- 
joyed a  privilege,  which  he  was  never  slow  to 
act  upon,  of  saluting  all  the  young  debutantes, 
most  of  them  very  pretty  young  things,  fresh 
from  the  country,  and  greatly  agitated  at 
what  was  before  them.  The  words  "  first 
presentation  "  called  out  loudly  was  the  signal. 
Often  he  had  a  hundred  or  so  of  these  inter- 
esting operations  to  perform.  But  on  the 
other  side  of  the  account  the  poor  fellow  had 
to  pay  his  tribute  to  many  "undesirables" 
in  the  persons  of  certain  superannuated,  rather 
plain  matrons  and  spinsters,  and  to  do  the 
job  cheerfully  and  with  an  air  of  enjoyment. 
He  could  set  off  one  against  the  other. 
Some  of  the  spectacles  presented  were  often 
astonishing  enough,  beings  of  enormous  pro- 
portions, whose  vast  necks  and  u  bows,"  as 
38 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

Bob  Williams  would  have  called  them,  were 
struggling  to  escape  from  the  slender  fetters 
contrived  by  the  milliners.  And  such  costumes 
too,  blazing  crimsons,  massive  poplins  of  a 
fierce  green  or  yellow,  strange,  indescribable 
compositions  furnished  by  "  Cannock  and 
White,"  "  Todd  and  Burns,"  or  some  other 
of  what  were  called  "  monster  shops." 

Patrick's  Night  was  always  opened  with  a 
procession  of  the  castle  "supers,"  as  before 
described,  all  wearing  shamrocks,  while  the 
poor  Lord  Carlisle  tried  "to  do  the  Irish 
business "  by  exhibiting  an  extra-enormous 
bunch.  The  "  quick-witted  natives,"  as  Lord 
Morris  always  called  them,  are  never  taken  in 
by  these  cheap  histrionics,  any  more  than  they 
are  at  the  music-halls  by  the  cockney  who 
comes  on  with  a  green-tailed  coat  and  caubeen. 
The  poor  tag  and  rag  in  their  hired  court 
suits  were  genuinely  excited  by  the  rare  spec- 
tacle of  the  "  coort,"  and  pressed  eagerly 
forward  to  see.  But  a  couple  of  footmen,  walk- 
ing in  front,  pushed  them  aside,  as  they  would 
39 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

canaille^  and  then  the  Chamberlain,  full  of  his 
dignity,  would  sternly  call  out  :  "  Stand  back, 
please,  His  Excellency!"  I  see  the  whole 
now — the  band  in  the  gallery  (Hanlon's) 
striking  up  "God  Save  the  Queen,"  the 
excited  Carlisle  making  for  his  throne,  and 
then  the  country  dance  formed  to  the  tune  of 
"  Patrick's  Day." 

For  a  number  of  years  Hanlon  and  his 
band  were  in  great  vogue,  and  played,  with 
wonderful  spirit  and  precision,  all  the  new 
German  and  French  valses,  &c.  He  might 
send  to  your  party  only  three  or  four 
"  fiddlers,"  and  yet  the  result  was  delightful. 
Then  he  would  expand  into  a  full  orchestra  of 
thirty  or  so,  the  effect  of  which  was  equally 
good.  It  was  difficult  to  secure  Hanlon 
lui-meme  without  a  long  engagement,  or  much 
wheedling  from  a  fair  employer.  How 
well  I  recall  one  "Patrick's  Night"  at  which 
the  fascinating  little  Piccolomini  was  a  guest, 
led  out  as  she  was  by  the  worthy  Carlisle  ;  and 
when  Hanlon  from  the  gallery  struck  up  the 
40 


^f  of  Dublin  Society 

delightful  "  II  Bacio,"  then  for  the  first  time 
given  as  a  valse,  how  it  entranced  all  the 
dancers  and  had  to  be  given  over  and  over 
again.  What  a  scene  it  was  ! — a  mob  of 
"  feathers,  lappets,  and  diamonds "  flying 
round  in  perfect  riot  with  the  court-suits  or 
military  uniforms.  The  pleasant  lilt  still  rings 
in  my  ears. 

There  was  a  sort  of  stage  at  the  top  of  the 
room,  a  sort  of  place  of  honour — always 
spoken  of  by  the  natives  as  "  The  Dawse  "  or 
"  Daas."  Other  people  called  it  dais.  "  My 
woife  is  on  the  dawse,  she  was  taken  up  there 
by  one  of  the  Edge-du-congs"  "  His  Ex- 
f<?/lency  " — this  emphasis  was  common,  as 
also  "  The  Lady  Lift'nant " — would  seat  him- 
self on  "  the  throne,"  enjoying,  devouring 
the  sight,  with  more  than  usually  opened 
mouth.  Sometimes  he  grew  languid,  and  then 
his  satellites  bestirred  themselves  and  brought 
special  favourites  to  quicken  him  up. 

A  favourite  local   delusion  was  that  this 
"  Pathrick's  Hall  "  of  the  Castle  was  about 
41 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

the  finest  and  noblest  apartment  known  and 
quite  unsurpassed  in  the  three  kingdoms. 
Also  that  the  "  Patrick's  ball  "  given  on  the 
Saint's  day  was  a  thing  to  see,  and  one  that 
strangers  might  come  from  far  to  admire. 
Now,  this  St.  Patrick's  Hall,  as  I  prefer  to 
call  it,  was  really  nothing  extraordinary, 
though  a  large  and  spacious  room.  I  re- 
member an  English  friend  who  went  with  me 
expressing  his  amazement  :  "  You  don't  tell 
me  that  this  is  the  great  St.  Patrick's  Hall  we 
have  heard  so  much  of?"  The  clever  Irish, 
however,  tell  each  other  it  is  "  the  finest  room 
anywhere,"  and  will  go  on  doing  so,  and  so 
the  thing  will  be  accepted. 

At  Balls  it  was  often  droll  to  hear  the  police 
on  duty  shouting  for  the  vehicles — a  duty 
they  would  hardly  accept  in  London.  It  was 
"  Mrs.  Malone's  Kyar,  come  up  !  "  and  the 
box  on  wheels  would  arrive,  duly  backing 
to  the  pavement,  when  a  couple  of  richly- 
attired  females  would  get  in.  Some  one 
protested  that  he  had  actually  heard  "  Mrs. 
4* 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

Murphy's  Inside,  come  up  ! "  on  which  fol- 
lowed the  progressive  stages :  "  Mrs.  Murphy's 
Inside  is  coming  up  !  "  and  finally  "  Mrs. 
Murphy's  Inside  stops  the  way ! "  This,  I 
think,  was  one  of  Bob  Williams's  tales.  I 
heard  once  a  policeman  call  loudly  for  Mrs. 
Village  Church's  carriage,  and  presently  recog- 
nised the  lady  as  Mrs.  Villiers  Stuart. 

This  "  Patrick's  ball "  was  always  sup- 
posed to  be  a  highly  rollicking  affair.  Every 
one  who  had  been  at  a  levee  or  drawing- 
room  was  entitled  to  go,  and  had  to  go — and 
dance  too — in  court  costume.  The  Chamber- 
lain would  issue  his  edicts  in  humble  imitation 
of  the  greater  court — "Ladies  to  wear  feathers, 
&c."  It  may  be  imagined  what  a  promiscuous 
crowd  there  was. 

I  have  mentioned  Hanlon's  band,  but  by- 
and-by  Hanlon  and  his  methods  grew  obso- 
lete, and  he  was  gradually  supplanted  by  a 
musician  of  extraordinary  merit,  who  rose 
from  the  smallest  beginnings.  This  artist 
was  named  Liddell,  a  pianoforte  slayer  of 
43 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

wonderful  spirit  and  dramatic  power.  He 
conceived  the  idea  of  forming  a  small  band 
of  three  or  four  instruments,  but  of  which 
the  piano  should  be  the  inspiring  factor,  and 
speedily,  by  careful  training  and  perpetual 
rehearsals,  he  worked  his  little  force  up  into 
a  most  admirable  ensemble.  His  own  perform- 
ance was  truly  extraordinary  for  its  "  dash  " 
and  brilliancy,  and  he  seemed  to  have  taken  for 
his  model  the  Vienna  Strauss.  For  he  would 
every  now  and  again,  when  the  music  was 
flagging,  "  rush  in,"  as  it  were,  and,  some- 
times standing  up,  stimulate  the  whole  by  the 
wildest  displays.  His  own  somewhat  gro- 
tesque figure  and  autocratic  methods  added 
to  the  effect.  Great  ladies  had  to  plead 
humbly,  and  even  coax  him  to  attend  their 
parties.  He  almost  took  the  airs  of  a  Pade- 
rewski.  By-and-by  he  enlarged  his  forces, 
and  at  last  formed  a  large  and  admirable 
orchestra,  which  he  conducted  with  the  same 
verve  and  brilliancy,  having  a  repertoire  of 
the  most  delicious  valses.  It  was  a  treat  to 
44 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

hear  him  at  the  Viceregal  balls.  In  process 
of  time  his  fame  spread  to  London,  and  it 
was  not  an  uncommon  thing  for  some  dame 
of  fashion  to  send  for  Liddell's  Band  from 
Dublin.  Finally  he  found  his  way  to  Buck- 
ingham Palace. 

There  have  been  a  few  Viceroys  who  have 
really  "  done  the  thing  "  with  splendour  and 
lavish  magnificence.  The  first  in  order  of 
this  class  was  the  Earl  of  Eglinton,  who 
came  with  his  buxom  lady,  who  had  been  a 
wealthy  Irish  widow — Mrs.  Cockerell.  Her 
ingots  had  done  much  to  restore  the  Thane's 
impaired  estate.  She  brought  with  her  the 
well-known  Andrew  Cockerell,  a  pleasant 
fellow  and  privileged  joker,  whose  jests  were 
always  in  circulation,  and  who  was  on  the 
establishment  for  years.  It  seems  now  a 
curious  thing  to  have  looked  on  the  contriver 
of  the  Tournament  which  made  such  a  stir  ; 
yet  then  it  was  not  so  many  years  before, 
perhaps  ten.  He  was  the  first  to  introduce 
pomp  and  state  and  glitter — the  finest  horses 
45 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

and  retainers.  He  was  lavishly  hospitable, 
spent  money  liberally,  and  was  in  a  measure 
popular.  The  mob,  however,  is  always  quick- 
witted enough  to  see  below  these  devices,  and 
can  distinguish  between  what  is  done  for 
mere  effect  and  what  is  natural  and  un- 
affected display. 

Perhaps  the  most  showy  of  the  whole  series 
was  that  great  northern,  the  Marquis  of 
Abercorn,  later  Duke  of  that  name.  He  was 
a  perfect  Thane — stiff,  haughty,  with  a  Cale- 
donian "  gude  conceit  of  himself,"  albeit  he 
and  his  Clan  had  been  some  centuries  estab- 
lished in  Ireland.  His  lady  was  a  true  grande 
dame^  and  ever  comported  herself  as  such. 
This  great  personage  set  himself  out  for  mag- 
nificent state,  not  with  any  view  to  making 
a  show,  but  because  he  considered  it  all  due 
to  himself  and  to  his  high  family.  He  always 
bore  himself  with  a  haughty  but  reserved 
condescension,  which  impressed  the  lieges 
wonderfully.  There  is  a  pleasant  tale  told  of 
two  of  the  natives  who  had  been  to  the  Castle 
46 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

and  were  contrasting  the  demeanour  of  Lord 
Spencer  or  Lord  Carlisle  with  that  of  Lord 
Abercorn.     "  Ah  sure,  I'm  for  Abercorn  any 
day.      Now,  Carlisle,  you  see,  would  receive 
you  in  the  most  cordial  way,  and  talk  and  be 
delighted  to  see  you  ;    ask   how  you  were, 
and  all  that.      'But  give  me  Abercorn.     Shure 
there  he  stood,  without  a  word,  lookin'  down 
with  the  utmost  contempt  on  you,  just  as  if 
vou  were  the  very  dirt  of  his  shoe"       A  good 
shrewd    lesson   here   for   those   who   would 
gain  popular  favour.      It  was  extraordinary 
how  this   hauteur   of  his   pervaded   all    the 
court.       There  were  no  freedoms  or   laisser- 
tller.     Everything  was  formal.     Only  people 
of  the  highest  rank  were  invited.     This  noble 
family  was  generally  spoken  of  in  the  City  as 
"  Th'  Abercorns  " — "  Are  you  goin'  to  Th' 
Abercorns?"  &c.    The  youngest  daughter  of 
the  house  was  the  Lady  Georgina  Hamilton,  a 
pleasing,  pale-looking  girl,  in  constant  attend- 
ance on  her  mother.     She  seemed  to  be  as- 
siduously followed  by  a  well-preserved  veteran 
47 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

soldier,  who  was  then  in  command  at  the 
Royal  Hospital  of  the  Forces  in  Ireland, 
which  generally  mustered  from  thirty  to  forty 
thousand  strong.  This  was  Lord  Strathnairn, 
at  the  time  Sir  Hugh  Rose — a  curious  figure, 
long  and  lanky,  with  a  strange,  lean,  and  very 
pitiless  face  that  seemed  to  warrant  the  stories 
that  came  to  us  of  his  Indian  severities.  To 
his  officers  he  was  reported  to  be  repelling  and 
harsh.  But  with  the  ladies  he  was  the  most 
engaging  old  dandy  in  the  world — juvenile, 
too,  his  voice  attuned  to  low  and  even  sweet 
tones.  His  reception  by  them,  the  young 
particularly,  was  ever  flattering,  and  really, 
considering  his  exploits  and  services,  I  do  not 
wonder  that  he  was  found  attractive.  The 
gossips  soon  came  to  have  it  that  he  was 
seriously  "  after "  the  Lady  Georgina,  but 
those  who  knew  the  hero  better  felt  that  this 
was  but  a  gentle  flirtation — a  pastime  to  which 
he  was  much  given. 

Many  a  pleasant  ball  we  had  in  the  panelled 
halls  of  the  Royal  Hospital.     These  were  not 
48 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

promiscuous  gatherings,  and  invitations  were 
not  easy  to  obtain.  The  hall,  crowded  with 
soldiers  and  high-bred  dames  and  pretty  girls, 
flying  round  in  "  the  mazy,"  was  a  sight  to 
remember.  It  has  seen  many  occupants  from 
the  time  of  the  old  Sir  Edward  Blakeney,  of 
the  Peninsular  and  other  wars,  who  was  so 
feeble  in  health  that  his  more  masterful  lady 
was  supposed  to  arrange  everything,  as 
Mrs.  Proudie  did  for  her  bishop.  Sir  Owen 
Burne,  who  was  secretary  to  Lord  Strathnairn, 
could,  I  think,  tell  much  of  the  later  doings. 
Another  Commander-in-Chief  was  an  old 
Peninsular  officer  who  had  also  figured  in 
the  Crimea  and  at  Waterloo — that  worthy 
veteran,  Sir  George  Browne.  I  see  him  now 
with  his  honest  full-moon  face  looking  round 
benevolently  on  every  one  as  he  came  into 
some  crowded  room.  He  was  very  popular 
with  the  ladies.  There  was  also  Lord  Seaton, 
a  tall  and  stately  old  soldier,  thin,  stooped, 
and  delicate-looking  ;  as  well  he  might  be, 
for  he  also  had  been  in  the  Peninsula  and 
49  " 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

at  Waterloo.  How  curious  does  it  now 
seem  to  be  writing  down  such  things — to 
have  seen  and  talked  with  folks  who  had 
been  fighting  battles  nigh  a  hundred  years 
ago  !  Yet  such  were  common  enough  then. 
I  thought  little  of  it  when  an  old  major  ot 
my  acquaintance  used  casually  to  describe  to 
me  the  retreat  to  Corunna  in  which  he  had  a 
part,  and  of  which  he  seemed  to  think  the 
most  heart-breaking  incident  was,  not  the 
famishing  and  starvation  and  bare  feet,  but 
the  having  to  throw  whole  waggon-loads  of 
gold  and  silver  pieces  down  the  precipices  to 
save  them  from  the  French  ! 

I  know  of  a  good  story  of  Lord  Abercorn 
which  I  had  from  Florence  Marryat,  then  going 
about  the  country  with  a  "  monopologue  "  of 
her  own,  as  she  called  it,  and  also  editing 
a  magazine.  In  this  latter  had  appeared  a 
rather  free  article  on  the  Abercorn  family, 
describing  how  nearly  all  the  daughters  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  marry  into  the 
most  illustrious  families,  with  other  par- 
50 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

ticulars.  Presently  the  lively  Florence, 
coming  by  Dublin,  bethought  her  that  the 
patronage  of  the  court  would  be  useful, 
so  she  applied  for  it.  But  she  had  forgotten 
her  article.  To  her  astonishment,  she  received 
a  severe  letter  saying  that  such  patronage 
could  not  be  extended,  as  she  had  made  most 
unwarrantable  comments  on  his  Excellency's 
family  :  that  his  daughters  had  no  need  to 
seek  high  alliances  ;  such  were  only  what  their 
rank  and  high  lineage  entitled  them  to  :  there 
was  no  wonder  in  the  matter  at  all.  Miss 
Marryat  showed  me  this  odd  paper.  It  was 
evident  the  high-souled  Thane  was  touched 
to  the  quick.  She  was  very  angry,  and  told 
me  she  was  determined  to  "  show  them  all 
up."  She  would  publish  the  letter  with  an 
account  of  the  whole  transaction.  Now, 
seeing  what  confusion  this  would  lead  to, 
and  having  a  little  admiration  for  the  noble- 
man, who  had  thus  "given  himself  away," 
1  told  her  that  if  she  only  left  it  to  me  I 
thought  I  could  manage  to  smooth  it  over, 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

and  after  some  persuasion  she  agreed.  I  hap- 
pened to  know  an  official  at  the  court,  and 
wrote  to  him,  hinting  at  the  expost  about  to  be 
made,  and  how  awkward  it  would  be  to  bring 
family  matters  before  the  public.  I  could 
assure  him  that  the  lady  meant  no  offence  ; 
that  she  was  much  hurt  at  the  rebuke,  and  that 
it  might  be  as  well  to  soothe  her  feelings  by 
letting  her  have  the  usual  patronage  for  her 
"  show."  The  reply  came — an  almost  joyful 
letter,  full  of  thanks  and  gratitude,  admitting 
that  what  I  had  said  was  truly  reasonable, 
and  that  all  should  be  done  as  I  suggested. 
And  so  it  was  done,  and  the  show  came  off 
with  success.  I  have  always  rather  prided 
myself  on  this  transaction  as  a  very  credit- 
able little  bit  of  diplomacy,  which  however 
was  not  so  unselfish  as  might  be  supposed. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  stately  Abercorn 
that  when  a  number  of  professional  waiters 
were  engaged  for  some  of  his  great  balls  he 
went  to  the  expense  of  dressing  them  all 
up  in  tights  and  black  silk  stockings,  shoe- 
52 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

buckles,  &c.,  so  as  to  range  with  his  own 
menials.  This  was  doing  the  thing  en  grand 
seigneur.  On  his  second  Viceroyalty  he  came 
as  Duke  of  Abercorn,  being  the  only  holder 
of  the  office  who  has  secured  this  showy 
guerdon  for  his  services. 

Lord  Wodehouse — the  Lord  Kimberley 
who  has  just  died — who  had  been  the  governor 
of  colony,  one  of  the  smaller  officials  of  the 
Government,  had  been  sent  over  to  learn  the 
business  and  practise  for  official  work.  He  had 
but  little  fortune,  and  had  the  credit — perhaps 
unreasonably — of  economising  his  emolu- 
ments, and  of  trying  to  save  what  he  could 
out  of  the  £20,000  a  year  or  so  allowed. 
There  have  been  penurious  governors,  notably 

the  Earl  of  B ,  who  was  said  to   have 

sent  a  donation  at  Christmas  of  a  single 
"shin-bone  of  beef"  to  the  Mendicity  Insti- 
tution. This  was  never  forgotten,  and  at 
one  of  his  processions  an  actual  shin-bone 
of  beef  was  carried  solemnly  before  him 
at  the  end  of  a  long  pole  !  This  charity 
53 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

was  one  of  the  eccentricities  of  the  city. 
I  don't  know  what  it  meant  exactly,  or  what 
its  purpose  was,  but  it  was  significant  and 
even  natural  to  have  such  an  institution 
officially  recognising  beggary  in  a  country 
where  most  people  beg. 

There  were  charity  sermons  galore.  I 
remember  at  the  end  of  the  sermon  there 
was  always  a  sort  of  race  between  the 
congregation,  shuffling  away  to  escape  con- 
tribution, and  the  collectors,  gentlemen 
selected  by  way  of  honour,  and  who,  fur- 
nished with  willow-pattern  plates,  hastily 
took  up  their  posts  at  the  door  to  intercept 
those  trying  to  get  away.  In  return  for  the 
distinction  they  were  expected  to  deposit 
a  one-pound  note  at  the  least  upon  their 
plates.  For  the  benefit  of  the  poor  "  sick 
and  indigent  room  keepers"  there  was 
always  (another  oddity)  a  fancy  dress  ball 
at  the  Rotunda. 

Another  institution  that  was  rife  in  the 
city  was  that  of  bazaars  on  a  gigantic  scale 
54 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

for  the  Society  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul 
and  similar  admirable  charities.  Enormous 
sums  were  taken  ;  every  device,  whether 
legal  or  illegal  it  did  not  matter,  was 
resorted  to  to  raise  money.  Lotteries  on  a 
vast  scale,  with  jaunting  cars,  pictures,  sums 
of  money,  as  prizes,  were  organised,  and 
books  of  tickets  with  handsome  bonuses 
for  the  sellers  were  sent  away  in  every 
direction.  In  vain,  at  various  periods,  the 
legal  authorities  took  up  the  matter,  and 
issued  threatening  warnings,  as  to  prosecu- 
tion ;  no  one  paid  the  least  attention,  and 
the  thing  went  on  as  before. 

The  Spencer  regime  seemed  to  me  rather 
colourless,  as  was  also  that  of  Lord  Cowper. 
At  the  time  Lady  Cowper  was  in  her  prime 
and  much  admired.  The  papers  used  to 
speak  of  "Spencer's  Fairy  Queen."  Under 
their  rule  there  were  unhappily  agitated 
times.  I  remember  one  special  day  in  Dublin, 
which  indeed  was  quite  a  lurid  one,  as  I 
look  back.  Yet  it  was  a  gala — the  entrance 
55 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

of  the  Home  Rule  Lord-Lieutenant,  Lord 
Spencer,  in  a  sort  of  triumph,  after  the 
cashiering  of  the  sturdy  Forster  and  the 
weak  but  worthy  Lord  Cowper.  It  also 
brought  the  luckless  Lord  Frederick  Caven- 
dish. The  cortege  had  been  a  grand  one,  all 
the  windows  were  filled,  and  some  of  us  noted 
a  carriage  and  ponies  flying  past,  driven  by 
the  sister  of  one  of  the  unfortunate  pair 
who  were  to  take  their  last  walk  that 
evening.  That  walk  to  the  park  had  ever 
been  a  favourite  with  me  ;  I  used  to  go  along 
the  quays,  and  pursue  the  long  fair  avenue 
that  led  to  the  Under-Secretary's  lodge. 
But  for  the  festivity  I  should  have  taken  it 
that  day  as  usual,  and  perhaps  have  had 
a  share  of  some  sort  in  the  event.  It  was 
a  strange  thing  that  nothing  was  known 
of  the  murders  that  night,  though  one  of 
our  family,  who  came  in  late  from  a  dinner 
party,  said  that  there  was  a  rumour  that  some- 
thing awful  ihad  occurred  in  the  park  :  while 
others  said  a  great  person  had  been  murdered. 
56 


ftp  of  Dublin  Society 

We  all  laughed  at  this  as  an  exaggeration. 
But  when  I  went  out  the  next  morning  the 
newspapers — an  unusual  thing,  it  being 
Sunday — were  being  cried  in  the  streets  : 
"  Murder  of  Mr.  Burke  and  Lord  Frederick 
Cavendish  !  " 

The  dynasty  that  came  to  make  a  real 
show  was  that  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
and  it  must  be  said  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  solid  grandeur  displayed.  The  name  of 
Blenheim  and  Churchill  was  something  to 
conjure  with.  Loving  such  associations,  I 
always  find  myself  looking  on  people  of  this 
stamp  with  extraordinary  interest.  On  their 
staff,  as  secretary,  was  the  gifted  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill,  then  scarcely  thought 
of  except  as  a  clever,  promising  young 
man.  The  Duchess  was  a  striking-looking, 
"  monumental "  lady,  and  it  was  given 
out,  as  a  claim  to  popularity,  that  she 
was  "  a  born  Irishwoman."  She  was, 
in  fact,  one  of  the  Londonderry s — i.e.,  of 
the  Stewart  Clan.  In  her  time  was  the 
57 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

"  great  disthress,"  a  truly  grand  time  for  the 
patriots  and  fussy  people  generally.  There 
was  "  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  Fund," 
to  which  money  came  streaming  in  from  all 
parts  of  the  world ;  and  as  it  wouldn't  do  to 
have  nothing  but  "  the  dirty  Saxon  money 
goin' "  there  was  the  rival  Mansion  House 
Fund.  No  one  can  conceive  the  general  fun 
and  excitement,  there  being  a  large  committee 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  sitting  at  the  Castle, 
the  pleasant  Lord  Randolph  acting  as  secre- 
tary, his  mother  in  the  chair.  The  difficulty 
was  to  find  objects  of  charity,  and  every  one 
was  grateful  when  some  distressful  district  was 
discovered  or  when  some  local  priest  applied. 
The  money  and  goods  were  poured  out  as 
water. 

The  most  rollicking  incident  connected 
with  the  Relief  Fund  was  the  happy  sug- 
gestion of  getting  up  an  opera  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Relief  Fund.  The  piece  selected  was 
H.M.S.  Pinafore,  then  in  the  height  of  its 
success,  and  it  was  determined  that  it  should 
58 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

be  played  in  St.  Patrick's  Hall.  The  parts 
were  cast  :  Sir  Joseph  Porter  to  the  facetious 
Captain  M'Almont  ;  the  Captain,  the  present 
Sir  W.  Barrington  ;  the  "  bum-boat "  lady, 

Mrs.  Langley  ;  and  the  heroine,  Miss  G 

F ,  one  of  the  musical  sisters  of  Merrion 

Street.  There  were  few  more  popular  or 
more  capable  women  in  the  place  than  their 
mother.  She  had  an  extraordinary  spirit 
and  a  power  of  carrying  out  whatever  she 
had  set  her  mind  upon.  All  who  knew  her 
she  converted  into  friends,  I  believe,  for  the 
reason  that  they  saw  how  good-naturedly 
she  was  inclined,  and  how  able  she  was  to 
carry  out  whatever  she  professed  to  do.  The 
firm  of  "Able  and  Willing"  will  always 
find  friends.  Even  hollow-hearted  fashion- 
able dames  had  a  sincere  liking  for  her. 
Those  of  the  lower  and  working  classes 
would,  I  fancy,  have  done  anything  for 
her.  In  addition,  she  had  much  good 
sense  and  sound  judgment.  Her  prime 
maxim,  which  she  particularly  applied  to 
59 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Dublin  society,  was  that  good  society  was 
to  be  gained  with  less  trouble  than  it 
takes  to  secure  bad,  and  that  "  nice "  folk 
are  just  as  accessible  as  those  of  the  lower 
class. 

But  the  palmy  days  of  this  vice-regal 
method  of  reigning  were  reached  when  that 
singular  being,  Lord  Carlisle — erst  known  as 
a  respectable  politician — was  sent  to  preside 
over  the  country.  Then  the  fun  really 
began.  No  satrap  could  be  more  determined 
to  amuse  himself  and  make  of  life  a  jest. 
Had  a  red  fez  been  clapped  upon  his  head, 
and  a  chibook  put  into  his  hand,  he  would 
have  seemed  a  jovial  Turk. 

And,  to  begin  with,  what  an  extraordinary 
face  it  was  ! — rubicund  cheeks,  an  enormous 
mouth,  perpetually  kept  open,  and  opening  yet 
wider  as  his  interest  in  what  he  was  looking  at 
increased — his  mode  of  expressing  enjoyment 
— the  lower  lip  spreading  out  like  that  of  a 
jug,  with  thick  white  hair  hanging  over  his 
60 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

forehead,  with  usually  a  blue  coat  to  set  all 
off — surely  here  was  an  extraordinary  portrait. 
Add  to  this  a  strange  lack-lustre  stare,  which 
became  almost  "  oafish  "  as  he  grew  absorbed, 
and  a  curious  voice  that  seemed  at  times  to 
be  "  gargling."  Such  was  the  presumed  ruler 
of  Dublin,  at  least  ;  of  course,  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  country  generally  he  was  not 
allowed  to  participate.  He  was  sent  chiefly 
to  amuse  or  tickle  the  groundlings.  He  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  the  stage  Irishman — as 
of  a  light-hearted  race,  ready  to  be  soothed 
in  the  most  elementary  fashion.  He  fancied 
they  were  the  people  of  Harry  Lorrequer  and 
Charles  O'Malley.  Never  shall  I  forget 
some  of  his  earliest  appearances  in  "  the  Castle 
yard,"  when  on  the  Queen's  birthday,  according 
to  regular  tradition,  the  guard  was  relieved 
with  grand  solemnities — immense  crowds, 
chieflyof  ragamuffins  from  "  the  Liberties," 
a  sort  of  Irish  Seven  Dials — and  who,  always 
interested  in  the  "  sojers,"  crowded  into  the 
Castle  yard.  Presently  the  "  Lord  Liftinint  " 
61 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

would  make  his  appearance  on  the  balcony, 
ostentatiously  wearing  an  immense  bunch  of 
shamrock  and  surrounded  by  his  "  coort." 

As  the  band  played  Irish  airs  specially 
designed  and  ordered  to  humour  the  natives — 
"  Patrick's  Day  "  over  and  over  again — some 
ragged  fellows,  going  out  into  the  middle,  set 
up  a  sort  of  jig  to  the  music,  more  by  way  of 
burlesque  than  anything  else.  Lord  Carlisle, 
stooping  over  the  balcony,  his  mouth  opening 
wider  and  wider  with  enjoyment,  encouraged 
these  ragamuffins  with  gesture  and  voice.  It 
seemed  such  a  thoroughly  Irish  scene.  Then 
he  rushed  into  the  room  beyond  and  re- 
appeared laden  with  cakes,  bread,  &c.,  which 
he  actually  threw  down  to  the  mob — amid  the 
yells  and  shouts  of  the  rest,  who  struggled 
and  fought  for  the  morsels.  This  humiliating 
scene  went  on  for  a  long  time.  All  in 
authority  really  believed  that  the  way  to 
treat  the  lower  Irish  was  to  approach  them 
much  as  Captain  Cook  xiid  the  savages,  with 
glass  beads,  &c. 

62 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

Few  of  us,  save  old  people,  have  seen 
Listen  the  actor,  but  the  likeness  of  Lord 
Carlisle  was  recognised  at  once  and  was 
often  insisted  on.  So  too  was  repeated  the 
player's  humorous  complaint :  "  This  fellow 
will  take  the  bread  out  of  my  mouth."  It 
would  be  difficult  to  give  an  idea  of  his 
antics.  He  had  all  the  caprices  and  parti- 
alities of  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful, 
and  his  attendants  were  for  ever  on  the 
look  out  to  bring  him  some  attraction  who 
might  be  established  as  favourite.  Any 
one  that  suggested  a  new  entertainment — 
something  novel  or  exciting — became  his  friend 
on  the  spot.  Two  little  simple  but  interest- 
ing girls  may  have  arrived  from  the  country — 
one  singing,  one  playing  the  violin — say, 
daughters  of  a  country  doctor.  These  a  lucky 
aide-de-camp  heard  of — or  heard  performing. 
The  astonished  father  and  his  treasures  were 
dragged  off  to  court  and  installed  as  favour- 
ites. Concerts  were  got  up  for  them.  The 
Viceroy  was  seen  seated  before  the  fair 
63 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

violinist,  his  mouth  distended  and  cavernous, 
as  if  to  swallow  her,  fiddle  and  all — an 
amazing  spectacle.  "  See  him  now  fly-catch- 
ing," once  said  a  dutiful  member  of  his  staff. 

Merrion  Square,  or  "  Muryon,"  as  it  is 
pronounced,  is  a  fine  square,  covering  an  im- 
mense area  and  surrounded  by  large,  "spee- 
cious"  mansions.  Some  of  these  are  really 
noble  and  vast  in  their  staircases  and  reception 
rooms.  To  live  here  was  evidence,  ostensibly 
at  least,  of  prosperity.  Hence  it  used  to  be 
dotted  here  and  there  with  doctors'  residences, 
and  these,  curious  to  say,  on  one  side  only — 
the  physicians'  side  or  the  sunny  one,  where 
I  think  one,  Sir  H.  Marsh's,  boasted  a  fine 
vine.  Merrion  Square  is  now  a  perfect  Harley 
Street  for  its  number  of  doctors. 

There  was  a  house  just  at  the  corner  of 
this  square,  and  facing  the  Leinster  Lawn, 
which  was  completely  overgrown  from  kitchen 
to  garret  with  the  most  luxuriant  Virginian 
creeper  that  could  be  seen.  The  owner  had 
been  cultivating  and  encouraging  it  for  some 
64 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

thirty  years.  It  had,  however,  its  drawback, 
for  it  had  become  a  perfect  aviary.  Hundreds 
of  sparrows  had  established  themselves  in  its 
foliage,  and  the  twitterings  and  general  din 
had  become  a  serious  annoyance.  Many 
councils  were  held,  and  it  was  finally  deter- 
mined to  cut  the  tree  down.  But  many  were 
the  warnings  from  the  wise  old  women  of 
both  sexes.  It  was  an  unlucky  thing  to  do — 
it  is  invariably  so.  The  sparrows,  when  injured 
or  driven  away,  could  revenge  themselves ;  for 
their  enemy  was  sure  to  be  driven  away  him- 
self. One  might  smile  at  these  things,  as  the 
owner  did.  And  so,  on  the  fateful  day,  the 
gardeners  came  with  axes,  ladders,  &c.  The 
little  sparrows  were  all  away  foraging,  but 
what  a  surprise  greeted  them  when  they 
returned  :  their  leafy  abode  clean  gone,  and  a 
brick  wall  greeting  them!  The  scene  that 
followed  was  described  to  me  :  the  evicted 
creatures  gathered  in  vast  crowds  on  the  bal- 
conies, uttering  torrents  of  angry  reproaches, 
screams,  twitters,  addressed  to  those  they 
65 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

saw  looking  out  at  them.  After  long  dally- 
ing they  gradually  dispersed  ;  I  suppose,  to 
look  for  other  quarters. 

Now  for  the  sequel.  The  owner,  who  had 
been,  as  I  said,  an  old  inhabitant  of  the  city, 
went  away  in  the  summer  with  the  family  to 
some  of  the  English  baths,  as  one  member 
was  in  delicate  health.  They  were  to  return 
after  a  course  of  the  waters  ;  but  it  was  decreed 
by  the  doctors  that  it  would  be  essential  to  go 
for  the  winter  to  some  mild  watering-place. 
This  was  done.  After  the  winter  another 
place  was  ordered,  and  so  began  a  course  of 
wanderings  in  search  of  health  or  relief. 
These  continued  for  some  twelve  or  fourteen 
years  ;  during  which  time  the  patient  and  the 
head  of  the  family  had  passed  away.  The 
remaining  member  did  not  care  to  return. 
The  house  was  disposed  of;  and  thus  the 
sparrow  warning  came  true.  Of  course,  this 
was  the  idlest  superstition  ;  but  I  know  the 
family  always  thought  uneasily  of  the  business. 

There  was  an  interesting  figure  at  the 
66 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

court  in  Lord  Carlisle's  day,  whose  appear- 
ance roused  some  romantic  associations.  This 
was  Lady  Guy  Campbell,  who  was  always 
spoken  of  as  "  Pamela's  daughter  " — the 
Pamela  who  was  supposed  to  be  Madame  de 
Genlis'  child,  and  who  was  married  to  the  ill- 
fated  Lord  Edward  FitzGerald.  Here  was  a 
curious  link  with  the  past  and  with  the  dark 
days  of  the  Rebellion.  Lady  Guy  was  a 
pleasant-looking,  good-humoured  lady.  Her 
son  was  long  about  the  person  of  his 
Majesty. 

Among  the  many  "  favourites  "  unearthed 
for  the  delectation  of  "  his  Ex."  was  a 
young  and  piquant  little  Italian  widow  who 
had  been  Prima  Donna  dssoluta  at  some  small 
Italian  town,  and  had  come  to  settle  in 
Dublin.  She  was  a  bright,  lively  creature, 
and  was  universally  received  on  her  own 

merits.   The  indefatigable  C soon  marked 

her  down,   and   she  was    presently  installed 

prime    favourite    at    the    court,    her    pretty 

broken    English    and    lively    speeches    being 

67 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

quite  irresistible.  Her  voice  was  really  good, 
albeit  shrill,  and  she  could  perform  wonder- 
fully dashing,  but  ear-piercing,  vocal  feats. 
Never  was  the  Gargantuan  mouth  opened  so 
wide  as  during  these  exercises,  when  he  would 
draw  over  his  chair  in  front  of  the  piano  and 
gaze  as  if  about  to  devour  her  slight  self, 
notes  and  all.  She  always  treated  him  sans 
ceremonie,  and  with  a  sort  of  pertness  that 
delighted.  As  when  he  said,  "  Now,  my  dear 

Mrs. ,  when  are  you  going  to  give  me  a 

night  ?  "  "  How  dare,  sir,  of  you  to  propose 
such  a  thing  !  "  This  gave  huge  enjoyment. 
There  was  nothing  but  concerts  and  recitals, 
in  which  the  fair  prima  donna  figured  largely. 
Another  well-established  court  favourite, 

and   deservedly  so,   was  Mrs.   E.   G ,  a 

well-known  dame  and  a  lady  of  many  gifts, 
the  most  extraordinary  of  which  was  a  rather 
unusual  sort  of  organ — that  is,  an  almost 
male  tenor  voice,  which  she  had  cultivated 
and  developed  with  extraordinary  taste  and 
success.  It  was  often  amusing  to  watch  the 
68 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

very  natural  and  unfeigned  astonishment  of 
the  newly-arrived  stranger,  who  was  prepared 
for  a  performance  of  the  usual  kind  by  many 
a  "Now  you'll  hear  something  like  singing!" 
as  the  lady,  standing  out,  gave  forth  from  her 
ample  throat  and  chest  those  unexpected  and 
charnel-house  tones.  Sometimes  he  would 
be  inclined  to  smile  at  the  very  oddity  of  the 
tones  ;  but  seeing  from  the  faces  and  applause 
of  the  court  party  that  it  was  the  thing  to 
admire,  he  came  gradually  to  be  enchanted. 

When  Lord  Carlisle  arrived  first,  it  was 
found  that  he  had  brought  with  him  as  his 
chaplain  one  of  the  handsomest  young  parsons 
that  ever  appeared  on  the  local  stage.  An 
exquisitely  cut  face,  lovely  curling  brown 
hair  and  beard,  faultlessly  trimmed  :  young, 
attractive,  shrewd,  ready  of  speech,  lively — 

such  was  the  Reverend  Walter  C .     He 

would  have  speedily  won  every  girl's  heart  in 
the  place,  but  for  that  one  indefinable  yet  all- 
important  failing — lack  of  sympathy — and  an 
incurable  cynicism.  He  had  besides  a  most 
69 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

disdainful  and  almost  contemptuous  bearing 
to  everything  that  was  native,  and  never 
ceased  ridiculing  or  mimicking  the  accent  and 
absurdities  and  blunders  of  Mrs.  Toole  or 
Mrs.  Murphy.  His  extraordinary  cleverness 
gave  point  to  these  exhibitions.  Again,  he 
was  perpetually  talking  of  himself.  Yet,  all 
the  time  he  was  friendly  to  those  he  liked,  and 
did  many  a  good-natured  thing  for  those  he 
considered  genuine  people. 

The  handsome  chaplain  did  not  let  his 
office  interfere  with  his  engagements,  and 
used  to  be  seen  at  the  balls  and  other  enjoy- 
ments of  the  court,  to  the  displeasure  of  all 
serious  persons — who  were  quite  Calvinistic 
in  their  strictness.  He,  however,  took  little 
heed.  The  ladies  smiled  on  and  encouraged 
him.  Presently  he  found  all  such  restraint 
too  inconvenient,  and  formally  "  disfrocked  " 
himself  "  under  the  Act,"  I  believe,  and  thus 
became  happily  rid  of  his  gown  and  bands. 
He  changed  himself  into  "Assistant  Private 
Secretary."  The  white  tie  was  indeed  any- 
7° 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

thing  but  becoming  to  his  classical  features. 
He  was  a  great  favourite  with  "  his  Ex.,"  as 
he  always  called  his  chief — both  were  York- 
shiremen,  pur  sang — and  him  he  speedily 
held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  could 
adroitly  persuade  or  mould  to  do  anything 
that  he  wished.  The  good-natured  chief 
may  indeed  have  been  somewhat  in  awe  of 
his  sarcastic  tongue  and  powers  of  mimicry. 
And  what  a  clever  fellow  he  was  !  He  had 
the  art  of  making  himself  a  personage 
wherever  he  went,  and  of  taking  one  of  the 
forward  places.  When  any  distinguished 
visitors  arrived  from  England,  he  was  the 
one  who  became  most  intimate  with  them,  as 
a  "  regular  London  man."  It  was  amusing 
indeed  how  this  superior  "  London  tone  "  was 
assumed  by  this  one  particular  set,  as  though 
they  were  all  in  temporary  banishment  at 
some  unhealthy  island,  or  quartered,  as  it 
were,  in  some  village.  I  recall  one  of  them 
at  a  performance  at  the  grand  old  Theatre 
Royal  when  Sothern  was  performing  his  David 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Garricky  and  how  he  found  fault  with  two  of 
the  inferior  characters.  Then  sadly:  "And 
yet  a  fortnight  ago  they  were  perfection." 
"  But  they  were  not  here  then  ?  "  said  some 
one.  "  /  was  speaking  of  London"  replied 
the  other,  slowly  and  with  a  cold  pity. 
Neither  was  there  the  least  scruple  as  to 
abusing  contemptuously  all  things  Irish  in 
presence  of,  and  to,  the  Irish  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  Everything  was  "  so  Irish,"  "  so 
thoroughly  Irish."  "  What  could  you  ex- 
pect in  this  wretched  place  ? "  The  natives, 
I  am  bound  to  say,  particularly  the  ladies, 
joined  heartily  in  the  depreciation,  as  though 
it  did  not  affect  them — "  for  you  know, 

Mr.  C ,  we  are  most  of  us,  that  is,  all  of 

us  of  th'  upper  classes,  half  English,  you 
know."  "  No  doubt,"  the  impudent  fellow 
would  reply,  with  due  gravity  ;  "  everybody 
can  see  that."  But  the  haughty  country  dames 
of  good  names  and  families  did  sincerely 
regard  themselves  as  of  the  English  gar- 
rison, and  looked  disdainfully  on  the  herd  of 
72 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

"  Romanists  "  among  whom  they  were  com- 
pelled to  live.  The  most  "  superior  "  of  all 
were  the  English  ladies  who  had  married 
Irishmen,  and  whose  tone  of  having  sacrificed 
themselves  and  of  knowing  nothing  about  the 
people — how  could  they  be  expected  to  know 
or  learn  anything  about  them  ? — was  quite 
amusing.  The  poor  husbands  were  made  to 
feel  the  honour  that  had  been  done  them. 

There  was  a  tall  hussar  on  the  Viceroy's 
staff,  with  a  good  baritone  voice  and  a 
great  taste  for  music,  whom  every  lady 
was  only  too  eager  to  "  accompany  " — on  the 
piano,  at  the  least.  As  he  was  a  dark-eyed 
handsome  fellow,  the  ex-chaplain  did  not  at 
all  relish  his  success,  particularly  as  he  was 
a  sort  of  pet  of  the  deputy  sovereign's. 
The  tone  he  took  with  him  was  that  of 
constant  persiflage  and  ridicule,  particularly 
in  the  presence  of  the  admiring  ladies.  He 
would  rather  delight  in  exhibiting  his  own 
superior  manner  at  his  expense.  Thus  at 
one  of  these  "  Castle  Concerts "  he  came 
73 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

up.     "  Come,  P ,"  he  said,  "  you  are  to 

show  off  next  ;  the  ladies  will  be  delighted 
to  hear  you  sing  '  She  shines  before  me  like 
a  star.'  Come  along  at  once."  The  other 
refused  rather  peevishly,  and  seemed  to  resent 
this  dictatorial  treatment.  "  What  !  You 
won't  leave  the  fair  ?  Fie  !  fie !  Now, 
you'd  better — Come.  Take  my  advice,  for 

you'll  have  to  come."     As  P declined 

to  be  ordered  off  in  this  fashion,  his  tor- 
mentor went  away,  but  presently  returned 
with  smiling  triumph.  "  There,  I  told  you 
you'd  have  to  come.  His  Ex.  has  sent  for 
you,  and  you  are  to  sing  *  She  shines  before 
me.'  Come,  now" — in  a  soothing  way — 
"  don't  be  a  bold  child  any  more,  or  we'll 
have  to  send  you  to  bed."  And  so,  smiling 
at  the  ladies,  he  led  off  his  victim  fuming 
and  raging. 

C loved  to  be  thought  intellectual — 

to  be  the  friend  of  literary  men.     He  had  a 

wonderful  memory,  and  thought  nothing  of 

standing  up  on  the  rug  to  recite — which  he  did 

74 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

with  a  fervour  and  passion  that  he  by  no 
means  felt.  His  favourite  piece  was  Tenny- 
son's "  Northern  Farmer,"  which  he  gave 
with  admirable  effect — the  dialect  was,  of 
course,  familiar  to  him  as  a  Yorkshireman — 
and  Poe's  "The  Raven."  He  certainly 
threw  himself  into  both  pieces.  "  The  Raven  " 
was  particularly  dramatic.  Once  John  Forster, 
Boz's  friend,  was  dining  with  us — "  the 
redoubtable  critic  from  London"  —  and 
our  hero  was  induced  to  stand  up  and 
perform.  He  did  his  best,  Forster  listen- 
ing with  a  tolerant  and  encouraging  smile 
and  saying  "  it  was  very  good  indeed."  The 
performer  was  but  half  pleased  with  this 
approval ;  he  was  accustomed  to  tumultuous 
praise. 

Our  friend's  general  topic  in  all  his  talk — 
and  he  was  incessantly  talking — was  himself ", 
le  mot.  I  must  say  he  did  not  make  this 
fatiguing :  for  he  set  it  out  with  great  variety 
and  cleverness  and  the  introduction  of  lively 
comment,  &c.  As  he  talked,  his  favourite 
75 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

pose  was  the  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  chimney 
piece  in  a  d'Orsay  attitude.  Once  he  was 
introduced  into  a  novel,  drawn  to  the  very 
life  in  this  especially  favourite  attitude,  a 
most  graceful  pose,  the  while  discoursing,  and 
ever  and  anon  taking  glimpses  of  himself. 
He  taxed  the  author  with  having  introduced 
him  and  added  naively,  "  you  must  have 
meant  me,  because  that  is  my  constant  atti- 
tude." "And  of  a  good  many  others  too," 
said  the  other,  laughing.  A  compliment  or 

two  placated  C :  and  I  fancy  he  rather 

thought  it  was  a  feather  in  his  cap. 

At  one  time  he  was  quite  engrossed  with  a 
rather  feeble  play  of  Feuillet's,  called  Maxime 
— extracts  from  which  he  read  out  to  select 
friends  and  to  great  applause.  He  then 
translated  it,  and  was  persuaded  by  the  fair 
to  have  it  printed  for  their  better  enjoyment 
of  it ;  and  this  also  he  read  aloud.  Then 
followed  what  always  seemed  to  me  one  of 
the  most  comical  illustrations  of  self-delusion 
I  have  seen.  What  with  the  extracts  and  the 
76 


ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

reading  of  the  whole,  the  criticisms  and  the 
raptures  and  applause,  he  came  at  last  to 
believe — genuinely  too — that  he  had  written 
the  piece!  Once  a  young  lady  timorously 
suggested  that  she  thought  such  an  expression 
a  little  unnatural  in  the  character.  "  Why," 
said  he,  with  a  scornful  glance,  "  can't  you  see 
that  nothing  else  will  suit  the  situation  ? 
Don't  you  see  how  /  led  up  to  it  in  the  pre- 
ceding scene — paved  the  way,  by  making 
Maxime  say,  &c.  I  prepared  for  it  all."  This 
was  droll  enough. 

C was  a  ready  and  a  skilful   actor, 

though  hardly  yet  equipped  to  exhibit  himself 
on  the  public  boards.  He  was  great,  however, 
at  the  country  houses  in  amateur  theatricals. 
There  were  other  houses  and  other  readings — 
all  to  a  perfect  clamour  of  applications — "  Oh 

dear,  Mr.  C ,  wont  you  act  it  ? "  said  the 

fair  hypocrites  ;  "  you  must  act,  for  you  are 
really  Maxime  himself!  Bring  it  out  at  the 
Theatre  Royal,  and  we  shall  all  take  tickets  and 
go."  Beguiled  by  these  frail  promises,  the 
77 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

rash  C not  only  printed  his  translation, 

fancying  that  every  one  would  buy,  but 
actually  took  the  Theatre  Royal,  engaged 
actors,  and  brought  out  the  play — his  play,  or 
"  my  piece,"  as  he  always  called  it.  By  the 
mere  right  of  performance,  Feuillet's  name 
was  absorbed  into  his.  It  proved  a  costly 
mistake.  On  that  large  arena  and  huge  stage 
the  too  cynical  tones  of  our  super-refined 
performer,  with  his  would-be  delicate  strokes 
of  "  business " — very  telling  in  a  room — 
faded  into  nothing.  Our  grand  actor,  who 
could  teach  all  the  world,  showed  forth  as  a 
rather  weakish  amateur.  Friends  were  per- 
force obliged  to  muster  in  the  boxes.  "  His 
Ex."  was  in  his  own  box  with  his  staff,  who 
came  to  chuckle  over  the  conceited  fellow's 
failure.  But  who  could  compel  the  pit  and 
galleries  to  attend?  They  cared  nothing  for  the 

elegant  Walter  C ,Esq. ,  who  had  not  even 

A.D.C.  after  his  name.  I  do  not  know  how 
he  contrived  to  pay  the  bill — or  bills,  for 
there  was  to  be  a  second,  yea,  a  third  night, 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

which  in  the  lightness  of  his  heart  he  had 
contracted  for. 

We  had  our  "  command  nights "  when 
"  his  Exctf/lency  "  went  in  state,  to  the  delight 
of  the  galleries.  The  Viceregal  box  was  the 
object  of  perpetual  intrigue,  every  would-be 
fashionable  scheming,  through  some  hanger- 
on  of  the  court,  to  obtain  it  for  a  night  when 
it  was  not  in  use.  "  Who's  that  in  the 

Viceregal  box  ?  Why,  it's  the s ! "  This 

was  thought  a  delightful  thing  to  have  said  of 
one,  and  added  to  the  enjoyment  of  occu- 
pation. In  anticipation  they  could,  for  days 
before,  tell  their  friends,  "  We  have  got  the 
Viceregal  box  for  to-night !" 

Lord  Carlisle  had  a  fashion  on  these 
command  nights  of  putting  his  great  white 
head  out  of  the  box  and  staring  up  at  the 
galleries  to  watch  their  buffooneries-  There 
used  to  be  screams  of  delight  at  this  sign  of 
interest.  One  fellow  would  call  out,  "Aisy, 
boys  ;  what  a  pity  he  has  no  childer."  And 
another,  "Ah  !  shure  he's  done  his  best." 
79 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

On  this  hint  he  would  abruptly  withdraw  his 
head.  Among  the  higher  classes  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  fun  on  this  score,  especially  in 
connection  with  his  motto,  |C  Volo,  non 
valeo." 

C gave  other  exhibitions  of  himself 

much  more  favourable.  In  Still  Waters  Run 
Deep,  got  up  by  Lady  Emily  Peel  at  "  The 
Lodge,"  he  was  excellent.  It  was  a  comic 
note  of  our  society  that  these  curt  titles  were 
presumed  to  be  understanded  of  everybody. 
"  The  Lodge"  was  the  Chief  Secretary's  Lodge 
in  the  park  ;  and  there  was  also  the  Viceregal 
Lodge.  There  was  "  Patrick's  "  (which  de- 
noted St.  Patrick's  Cathedral),  "  Christ's " 
(Christ  Church  Cathedral),  Stephen's  Green 
for  St.  Stephen's.  There  was  something  of 
a  mental  vulgarity  in  all  this.  At  the  Lodge, 
then,  the  fair  Lady  Emily,  of  whose  spouse 
— then  Chief  Secretary — the  oddest  tales 
were  told,  got  up  some  plays,  and  under 
C 's  tutelage  performed  very  well  indeed. 

There  was  yet  another  play  at  a  place  called 
80 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

Woodlands,  which  was  in  the  far-off  suburbs 
— a  drive,  I  suppose,  of  seven  or  eight  miles, 
in  most  cases  by  "job  carriage,"  from  the 
quaintly-named  "  Gerty  and  Rorke's,"  who 
were,  however,  more  distinguished  for  catering 
for  funerals.  No  Catholic  that  respected  his 
own  memory  could  escape  being  attended  by 
"  Gerty  and  Rorke  "  :  while  the  correct  Pro- 
testant was  looked  after  by  "  Waller  and 
Begg."  By  either  of  these  firms  you  might 
depend  on  the  thing  being  done  well.  The 
morning  papers  always  took  care  to  announce 
that  the  "  arrangements  "  were  carried  out  by 
the  firms  in  question.  Thus  every  one  came 
to  feel  a  sort  of  comfort  in  the  notion  of 
being  buried.  Though  your  friends  and 
acquaintances  might  not  attend  you  very 
assiduously  in  your  lifetime,  you  could  rely 
on  their  appearing — in  an  immense  procession 
— behind  you  on  this  final  morning. 

En  passant,  I  may  say  that  in  no  city  in  the 
world  do  the  local  horses  attend  funerals  to 
such  a  vast  extent.    I  believe  the  animals  could 
81  F 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

find  their  way  to  the  different  cemeteries — 
Mount  Jerome  and  Glasnevin — in  the  dark 
almost.  I  suppose  there  is  not  a  jobbed 
horse  that  does  not  visit  these  places  once  or 
twice  in  the  day  at  the  least.  For  in  Dublin  it 
is  to  the  credit,  not,  alas,  of  the  deceased, 
but  of  his  surviving  acquaintances,  that  they 
should  be  drawn  in  state  after  his  coffin  to 
the  grave,  and  make  a  respectable  show  in 
the  long  line.  Some  one  of  the  genteel 
community  is  thus  honoured  almost  every 
morning.  A  lively  lady — an  Englishwoman, 
herself  living  in  Dublin — declared  to  me  that 
she  was  obliged  to  keep  a  special  pair  of 
horses  solely  for  the  purpose  of  attending 
funerals  !  These  funeral  horses  have  ragged 
white  mops  fixed  on  their  heads,  which 
have  an  odd  effect,  to  say  nothing  of  these 
being  usually  very  old  and  dirty.  Every 
one,  coachmen  and  all,  wore  the  white  scarf, 
cut  liberally  of  course,  and  supposed  to  have 
the  exact  "  makins  of  a  shirt."  There  were 
also  gloves.  As  a  child  I  recall  weddings 
82 


<^f  of  Dublin  Society 

at   which    there    were    plates    of   white    kid 
gloves  ! 

I  remember  the  very  first  photographic 
establishment  in  Dublin,  and  the  wonder 
and  astonishment  it  caused.  It  was  a  little 
wooden  structure  set  up  on  the  top  of  the 
porch  of  the  Rotunda,  and  was  known  as 
the  Daguerreotype  Studio.  The  image  was 
taken  on  a  silver  plate,  which  had  to  be  held 
in  a  peculiar  light  to  see  the  effect.  I  lately 
found  one  of  these  early  attempts,  nearly 
faded  out  ;  they  were  very  dear  in  price, 
too,  and  there  was  only  one  copy,  "  negatives" 
being  then  unknown. 

There  used  to  be  a  curious  ceremonial,  on 
the  Sovereign's  birthday,  I  think,  when  half 
a  regiment  would  be  drawn  up  round  the 
equestrian  statue  of  King  William  the  Third 
on  College  Green.  At  a  signal  the  soldiers 
fired  three  volleys,  to  the  general  confusion 
of  the  numerous  cars  and  carriages  drawn 
up  to  witness  the  scene.  This  was  one  of 
the  last  tokens  of  the  old  ascendency.  It 
83 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

is  astonishing,  considering  the  violence  of 
party  spirit,  that  this  memorial  has  been 
allowed  to  keep  its  place.  O'Connell, 
indeed,  during  his  mayoralty,  insisted  on  its 
being  repaired  and  furbished  up,  and,  it  was 
said,  had  it  decorated  in  green  and  gold — 
his  own  livery.  There  was  an  immense  sen- 
sation, which  I  recall  perfectly,  when  one 
morning  news  spread  through  the  city  that 
the  King  William  had  been  blown  up.  The 
legs  and  other  portions  of  the  body  were 
found  in  different  quarters  of  the  city. 
They  were  reverently  collected  and  put 
together  again.  In  this  connection  a  pleasant 
hoax  was  played  off  on  Sir  Philip  Crampton, 
the  Surgeon-General,  who  betimes,  and  before 
the  news  reached  him,  received  an  urgent 
message  to  come  at  once  and  attend  a 
"gentleman  who  had  fallen  from  his  horse 
and  broken  his  legs" 

There   are  two  things  which  every  Dublin 
— indeed,    every   Irish — person    holds   as  of 
faith  to   be  finer  than  anything  of  the  kind 
84 


<Hf  of  Dublin  Society 

in  the  United  Kingdom  :  these  are — first, 
the  Punchestown  Races  ;  and  second,  the 
"  Harse  "  Show,  as  it  is  pronounced.  "  Ah, 
where'd  ye  see  the  likes  of  racin'  like  Punch- 
estown ?  And  as  for  the  Harse  Show — ah, 
don't  tell  me,  all  the  wurrald  can't  touch  it !  " 
Now,  as  the  candid  friend,  I  own  these  insti- 
tutions are  really  most  excellent,  but  how 
such  a  claim  should  be  set  up  of  surpassing 
anything  in  the  kingdom  seems  incom- 
prehensible. We  all  live  in  a  realm  of 
delusions,  and  refuse  to  open  our  eyes. 
This  Punchestown  racing  is  really  a  very 
"  moderate "  affair  as  compared  with  Liver- 
pool or  others  of  the  great  steeplechases. 
But  the  delusion  in  the  case  of  ' '  the  Harse 
Show  "  is  clearly  proved  by  the  wonder  and 
the  delight  at  the  exhibition  of  u  leppin'  " 
which  the  populace,  as  I  really  fancy,  believes 
can  only  be  achieved  "  in  style  "  by  Irishmen 
on  Irish  horses  and  on  Irish  ground.  Now, 
this  jumping  of  hurdles  and  fences  and 
brooks  is  a  common  feature  at  most  horse 
85 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

shows,  at  the  Agricultural  Hall  notably, 
and  very  well  done  it  is.  However,  we  tell 
each  other  it  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  worrld, 
and  that  people  come  from  all  parts  of  the 
worrld  to  see  it.  But  Felices  errore  suo. 

Oh  !  the  corrupting  influence  of  this  so- 
called  "  court  " — the  cringing,  abject,  rever- 
ential tone  it  engenders  in  the  souls  of  those 
who  were  before  independent — it  spreads  over 
them  like  a  cankering  rust.  It  was  at  one  of 
these  triumphant  Horse  Shows  that  I  found 
myself  beside  a  popular  man  whom  I  had 
not  seen  for  a  long  time,  and  who  greeted  me 
heartily.  He  had  smooth  manners,  and  was  said 
to  be  welcomed  in  august  circles.  I  had  known 
him  in  a  previous  state  in  a  rather  lower 
station  working  at  his  duties.  I  now  learned 
that  he  had  come  to  bask  in  the  beneficent 
Viceregal  light,  that  he  had  been  "  taken  up  " 
as  it  were — bidden  to  dine  (mark  you  this  !) 
at  the  state  dinners — quite  a  different  thing 
from  the  common  hoi  polloi  dinners.  But 
now  I  was  really  confounded  at  the  change  in 
86 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

him.  After  his  first  pseudo-affectionate  in- 
quiries ^  as  to  my  doings,  T  noticed  that  his 
eyes  were  wandering  away  very  uneasily  and 
even  piteously.  "The  Cadogans  are  late," 
he  said  at  last.  "Who?"  I  asked.  "Oh, 
the  Cadogans "  (he  gave  it  the  full 
emphasis  so  common  now,  the  Ca^/^gans).  I 
could  not  see  how  that  much  affected  either 
of  us.  I  then  asked  affectionately  after  past 
friends  :  but  his  thoughts  were  still  straying 
away  : 

"  He  heard  me,  but  he  heeded  not, 
His  heart  was  far  away." 

His  eyes  rested  wistfully  on  the  entrance 
gate,  and  he  repeated  again,  "The  CaDUGgans 
are  very  late.  Oh,"  with  a  cry  of  rapture, 
u  here  they  are  !  "  and  he  rose  up  and  bent 
forward  as  if  to  attract  attention,  and,  as  the 
equipages  swept  past,  took  off  his  hat  and 

*  There  is  a  common  formula  in  these  things  :  "  Oh, 
you've  given  us  up — gone  to  live  in  London — well, 
you're  right ;  this  is  a  one-horse  place  ; "  or  else,  "  So 
nothing'll  do  you  but  London — no  less — we  poor  Irish 
aren't  good  enough,"  etc. 

87 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

waved  it.  Most  amazing  this,  I  thought. 
Here  was  clearly  the  lues  vice-regalia.  Alas  ! 
I  tried  to  talk  to  the  unhappy  man,  but  it  was 
of  no  use.  He  was  absorbed  in  the  Vice- 
regal glamour.  Craning  his  neck  forward,  he 
would  exclaim :  "  D'ye  see  him  now  ? — that's 

Lord he  is  talking  to."     "  How  nice  !  " 

was  all  I  could  say.  I  wish  I  could  give  an 
idea  of  the  rapturous  adoration  with  which 
the  unhappy  man  followed  every  movement 
that  went  on  in  what  was  called  "the  Vice- 
regal box." 

When  he  had  to  give  up  his  office  by 
change  of  Government,  poor  Lord  Carlisle 
was  in  despair.  It  was  said  he  moped  at  home, 
missing  his  ragamuffins  and  shamrock.  His  joy, 
we  supposed,  must  have  been  excessive  when 
the  turn  of  the  wheel  brought  him  back  once 
more.  But  it  was  noticed  that  he  was  sadly 
changed.  There  was  a  vacancy  in  his  eyes, 
a  failure  of  memory,  and  other  symptoms. 
After  some  time  his  case  became  serious.  It 
was  settled  that  he  should  go  away  for  change 
88 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

and  rest.  Alas  !  the  pleasant  jovial  old  fellow 
never  returned,  and  we  never  saw  him  again. 
His  malady — it  was  softening  of  the  brain — 
was  making  vast  strides,  so  that  he  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  where  he  was.  With  him  fell  the 

brilliant  C ,  who  had  no  friends  to  keep 

him  there  ;  plenty,  rather,  who  rejoiced  that  he 
was  going.  He  was  in  despair  ;  he  had 
grown  accustomed  to  the  place,  and  had 
actually  begun  to  believe  in  and  to  like  it.  I 
recall  him  in  London  telling  a  party  of  an 
amusing  scene  at  "  the  Lodge,"  in  which 
"the  Lodge "  was  referred  to  over  and  over 
again  ;  some  one  at  last  asked  :  u  Where  on 
earth  was  all  this  ?  What  lodge  ?  "  I  cannot 
forget  his  look,  as  he  scornfully  replied  : 
"  Where  ?  Why,  at  the  Viceregal  Lodge,  of 
course  f  "  Poor  fellow,  he  assumed  that  all 
the  world  knew  of  and  were  interested  in  the 
Lord  Lieutenant  and  his  lodge.  The  in- 
quirer might  have  further  asked  :  "  What 

Viceregal   Lodge  ? "      C fancied    there 

was  but  one  in  the  world. 
89 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  the 
gradual  extinction  of  this  pleasant  being,  who 
had  enjoyed  himself  so  heartily  in  his  office. 
The  scene  of  his  farewell  at  Kingstown  was 
described  to  us  by  his  faithful  henchman, 

C .    It  was  a  beautiful  summer's  evening, 

and  a  large  party  of  his  personal  friends  sur- 
rounded him  on  the  pier.  He  did  not  speak. 
It  was  clear,  indeed,  that  his  fatal  malady  was 
then  strong  on  him.  At  last,  said  Sir  George 
Browne,  "  Now,  Sir,  you  had  better  go.  We 
are  only  troubling  you :  so  good-bye,  sir,  and 
God  bless  you ! "  The  veteran  then  quite 
broke  down.  All  the  time  Lord  Carlisle  kept 
the  same  fixed,  stony  look,  turning  his  eyes 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  not  uttering  a 
word.  He  then  went  on  board,  walking 
slowly  to  the  end  of  the  vessel.  As  she  moved 
away  he  took  his  hat  off  and  held  it  in  his 
hand,  while  the  light  of  a  gorgeous  sunset 
streamed  full  upon  those  familiar  grey  locks. 
As  the  distance  grew  wider  they  could  still 
see  his  curious  figure,  staring  with  a  sort 
90 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

of  devouring  gaze.  He  was  thinking,  no 
doubt,  that  this  was  his  last  look  at  the 
pleasant  land  where  he  had  had  such  a  high 
old  time — of  "  the  Castle,"  and  its  balls  and 
concerts  and  lively  ladies — from  whence  he 
was  hurrying  to  the  final  stage,  that  came 
speedily. 

When  he  lost  his  friend  and  patron,  C 

was  in  a  parlous  way,  and  had  nothing  to 
turn  to.  But  being  an  adroit  fellow,  he 
speedily  fell  upon  his  legs  again,  marrying 
the  daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  man.  When 
I  next  saw  him  he  was  established  in  Park 
Lane,  "  no  less,"  as  some  of  his  Irish  friends 
would  have  said,  in  that  mansion  where  the 
balconies  rest  upon  four  nymphs  or  Caryatides. 
There  he  did  not  forget  his  old  friends,  and 
I  was  often  bidden  to  his  hospitable  table, 
where  I  was  sure  to  meet  many  agreeable 
people.  His  thoughts  were  ever  straying 
back  to  the  old  pleasant  days  and  to  Castle 
legends,  which  he  would  retail  to  politely 
listening  but  incurious  friends.  He  died  some 
9' 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

years  back,  I  am  afraid  from  brain  affection, 
and  one  will  always  think  of  this  curious  and 
brilliant  character  with  interest  and  pleasure. 
Poor  C ! 

Dublin  was  in  those  days  a  city  of  pretty 
girls— gay,  bright  things,  with  laughing  eyes, 
and  free  and  easy  ways.  We  had  not  then 
reached  the  stage  of  the  grenadier  type  and 
of  massive  Venuses.  These  were  mostly 
petites;  many  were  good-looking;  and  we  had 
a  good  many  regular  official  beauties.  Who 
will  forget  the  three  handsome  O's — Miss 
O'K.,  Miss  O'R.,  and  the  resplendent  Rose 
O'H.! 

And  what  dancing  there  was,  and  what 
dancers  we  were !  We  have  heard  of  "  the 
excuse  for  a  glass,"  but  everything  here  was 
made  an  excuse  for  a  dance.  I  have  been  at 
half  a  dozen  of  a  night.  "  Carpet  dances," 
always  detestable  things,  were  accepted  gladly 
in  lieu  of  nothing  else.  Then  Turkey 
and  other  carpets  of  the  kind  were  little 
9* 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

known.  Carpets  were  nailed  tightly  down, 
and  gave  out  clouds  of  hot  dust  under  the 
brushing  feet.  Once  at  a  militia  ball  in  the 
country — to  which  I  had  gone  down,  full 
forty  miles  away — a  person  of  the  place, 
whom  I  did  not  know,  came  up  and  said 
pleadingly  :  "Won't  you  dance?  Ah  !  Do! 
I  know  some  of  the  nicest  girls  in  the  world, 
and  will  introduce  you."  When  I  declined, 
he  returned,  somewhat  ruefully,  to  his  three 
sisters — Ariadnes  neglected  !  And  in  what 
stuffy  little  houses  we  would  have  these  carpet 
dances,  squeezing  up  a  narrow  stair  in  which 
there  was  room  only  for  a  peculiarly  un- 
pleasant lodging-house  smell. 

At  most  dances  was  to  be  seen  a  curious 
apparition — a  lank,  elderly  being,  with  grizzled 
hair  and  of  a  grotesque  type,  who  had  a 
perfect  mania  for  dancing.  In  spite  of  his 
age,  he  flew  round  in  the  valse  with  mar- 
vellous energy  and  agility,  and,  odd  to  say, 
found  plenty  of  the  young  girls  to  dance  with. 
But,  as  a  lively  colonel's  wife  used  to  say,  as  if 
93 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

it  explained  a  world  of  things,  "  Anything  in 
trousers,  my  dear,  anything  in  trousers ! " 
This  singular  being  was  known  as  "  the 
Dancing  Dervish." 

I  recall  paying  a  visit,  in  company  with  my 

friend   Lord  A ,   to    the   old   Duke   of 

Leinster,  great-grandfather  of  the  present 
Duke  (Eheufugaces  /),  at  his  beautiful  seat  at 
Carton,  Maynooth.  He  was  a  bald,  round- 
headed,  venerable-looking  old  man,  very  fond 
of  music,  and  a  great  patron  of  Ella's  concerts. 
He  was  attended  by  his  brother-in-law,  Sir  F. 
or  Mr.  Stanhope,  I  forget  which,  a  sort  of 
parchment-cheeked,  slippered  being.  I  re- 
member hearing  from  an  old  friend,  a  man 
of  many  stories,  that  at  some  ball  he  saw  this 
gentleman  "  stand  up "  with  Lady  Morgan 
to  perform  a  jig.  They  did  it  with  extra- 
dinary  spirit,  and  found  it  impossible  to  tire 
each  other  down.  At  the  close,  in  a  weary 
fashion,  Stanhope  said  to  the  crowd,  "  Truly, 
it's  a  great  pity  you  Irish  won't  dance  your 
own  jigs,"  as  though  the  thing  had  to  be  done 
94 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

by  some  one,  who  would  sacrifice  himself  to 
set  an  example.  But  there  was  a  good  deal 
below  this  speech.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  Irish 
"  won't  dance  their  own  jigs." 

The  stout  matrons  who  gave  the  "carpet- 
dances  "  had  but  the  most  elementary  notions, 
and  thought  nothing  of  entrapping  unthinking 
officers  into  their  stuffy  dens.  It  was  a  great 
point  to  have  th'  officers  at  your  party.  But 
you  need  not  know  th'  officers.  Some  boldly 
sent  invitations  en  bloc  to  the  colonel.  We  may 
imagine  the  astonishment  of  the  soldiers  on 
finding  themselves  in  some  mean  Baggot  Street 
shanty,  greeted  with  more  than  maternal 
heartiness  by  the  hostess,  who  had  never  seen 
them  before:  "  Deloighted  to  see  you,  captain. 
Now,  I'll  find  you  a  noice  partner,  captain.  /'// 
introjuice  you."  Then,  confidentially,  "What's 
your  name?"  No  wonder  these  gentry  made 
open  sport  of  the  entertainment,  all  but  laugh- 
ing in  the  face  of  their  hosts.  At  one  of  these 
places,  however,  a  very  unlucky  Nemesis 
overtook  them.  A  young  fellow  was  seated 
95 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

on  a  window-sill  in  the  back  drawing  room — 
for  chairs  were  scarce — the  curtains  drawn, 
and  was  gaily  expatiating  and  flourishing  to  a 
little  "  garrison  hack  "  beside  him,  when  he 
suddenly  fell  backwards  through  the  curtain 
into  the  area.  The  poor  fellow  was  killed  on 
the  spot.  I  had  been  in  the  place  a  day  or 
two  before.  It  was  a  fair  illustration  of  the 
reckless  carelessness,  the  mere  notion  of  such 
a  casualty  never  occurring  to  any  one. 

I  suppose  there  is  no  place  in  the  world 
where  that  peculiar  species,  the  "garrison  hack," 
so  flourishes.  In  Dublin  the  officer  is  looked 
on  much  as  the  peer  is  by  the  London  trades- 
man ;  he  is  admired,  worshipped,  followed  ; 
he  is  the  only  partner  worth  having,  the  only 
admirer,  the  only  husband.  It  was  truly 
astonishing  to  see  a  whole  family — father, 
mother,  and  daughter — all  in  eager  chase  of 
some  small  boy,  who  had  little  more  than  his 
pay,  simply  because  "he  was  in  th'  army"  ; 
and  still  more  surprising  what  a  number  of 
marriages,  some  really  advantageous,  were 
96 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

brought  off.  But  these  little,  trained  "  hacks," 
what  creatures  they  were  :  unscrupulous, 
giggling  ever,  passing  from  hand  to  hand 
and  from  regiment  to  regiment,  so  that  their 
name  and  reputation  extended  to  far-off 
towns.  They  had  nicknames  and  pet  names 
— "Jack"  this  and  "Poll"  that.  They  would 
sit  out  in  gardens,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  in  greenhouses,  on  the  roof  if  they 
could,  anywhere,  and  were  only  too  happy 
and  proud  "  to  be  caught."  There  were 
tribes  of  these  fluttering  insects.  I  used  to 
watch  them  entering  the  ball-room,  an 
enormous,  rather  greasy-lipped  mother  at 
their  head,  her  charges  following.  They  were 
instantly  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  hungry 
"  subs,"  and  in  another  moment,  for  time 
was  not  to  be  lost,  the  small  hard -worked 
creatures  were  flying  round  the  room.  The 
"  hack "  generally  did  not  rise  much  higher 
than  the  Foot  Regiment.  The  real  triumph 
lay  with  the  more  orderly  and  decorous  girl, 
who  was  seen  reposing  gracefully  in  the  arms 
97  G 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

of  a  gold-laced,  richly    embroidered  hussar 
or  dragoon. 

As  the  English  women  were  always  loudly 
inveighing  against  the  "Irish  dirt  and  general 
sluttishness,"  it  may  be  conceived  they  were 
not  very  popular  tenants  of  lodgings  or  houses. 
Here  may  be  an  unsuspected  cause  of  the  native 
dislike  and  even  hatred  of  the  Saxon,  who,  in 
presence  of  any  subject  or  provincial,  cannot 
put  restraint  on  his  or  her  tongue.  The  very 
English  groom  or  footman  takes  the  same 
airs.  I  once  heard  a  general  haranguing  a 
Guards  regiment  in  the  barrack  square,  telling 
them  that  they  were  not  to  blame  as  to  some 
scuffles  which  they  had  had  with  what  he 
called  "  a  low  Dublin  mob."  In  some  cases 
that  I  have  known  these  ladies  were  actually 
lodged  in  barracks — those  dreadful  old-time 
barracks,  the  Royal,  Island  Bridge,  or  the 
strangely  named  "  Beggars'  Bush."  These 
places,  in  spite  of  costly  repairs  and  reforms, 
have  ever  been  hot-beds  of  fevers  and  other 
epidemics.  Ladies  of  better  condition  had 
98 


<S?  of  Dublin  Society 

to  take  lodgings  or  houses  "  on  the  Canal " 
or  "  The  Circular  road,"  where  they  went 
through  much  discomfort,  owing  to  the  in- 
different service  of  their  Irish  attendants  and 
landladies. 

At  one  time  some  good  marriages  had 
"  come  off"  during  the  season.  There  had 
been  visits  of  young  men — from  England 
— who  had  gone  home  and  reported  these 
"  braw  landin's,"  as  John  Brown  had  it. 
Next  season  there  arrived  unexpectedly  some 
old  candidate-matrons,  with  "  marriageable 
daughters,"  who  took  houses  for  the 
season,  and  began  their  campaign.  One  was 
a  lady  of  title,  but  still  she  did  not  do  much. 
The  comic  part  of  the  business  was  the  fury 
of  the  local  matrons.  No  words  could 
express  their  indignation  at  this  "  poaching  " 
on  their  preserves.  "I'm  sure,"  said  they 
indignantly,  "  it's  hard  enough  to  get  off 
our  daughters,  with  all  the  competition  there 
is  :  but  to  have  Englishwomen  coming  over  to 
interfere  with  our  market — "  But  they  were 
99 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

no  match  for  the  intruders.  An  intrepid 
mother  belonging  to  one  of  the  older 
families,  with  a  rosebud  of  a  daughter,  sur- 
veyed the  ground  warily,  and  speedily  captured 
a  well-to-do  peer.  But  you  should  have 
heard  the  Dublin  matrons  on  this  final  out- 
rage. The  Dublin  girls  are  like  the  American 
girls — their  charms  are  irresistible  when  at 
the  full,  but  they  do  not  last.  That  delight- 
ful naivete  and  (apparent)  simplicity  which 
captivates  the  stranger,  becomes  lost  with 
years.  Your  flame  of  a  dozen  years  ago  is 
changed — to  your  astonishment — into  a  stout 
creature,  whose  naivete  is  positively  dis- 
agreeable. I  know  I  shall  be  considered  a 
traitorous  Irishman  when  I  lay  it  down  that  no 
Irish  girl  ought  ever  to  marry  an  Englishman. 
The  two  races  cannot  blend — there  is  a  per- 
petual jar  between  the  precise  habits  of  the 
one  and  the  happy-go-lucky  or  "  shure  it  'ill 
do  "  ways  of  the  other.  Once  a  hard-working 
professional  man  of  my  acquaintance  indulged 
his  favourite  son,  of  whom  he  had  great 
100 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

hopes,  with  "  a  holiday  in  Ireland."  After  a 
six  weeks'  absence  I  met  him  and  noted  a 
peculiarly  foolish  look  and  giggling  tones  in  his 
voice.  He  then  told  me  that  he  met  a  "  de- 
lightful attorney"  at  Cork  with  a  "lovely" 
daughter,  and  that,  in  short,  he  was  to  be 
married.  I  saw  the  father  later — there  was 
no  giggling  there.  It  was  indeed  a  disastrous 
business.  A  year  or  so  later  I  met  the  happy 
pair  and  was  presented  in  due  form.  But  the 
"  lovely  "  daughter  was  a  common  creature, 
with  a  snappish  manner,  always  eager  to  prove 
that  she  was  not  inferior  to  the  English 
"  any  day  "  and  could  "  hold  her  own."  In 
such  ill-sorted  menages  we  may  be  sure  the 
lady  is  constantly  being  told,  "  Oh,  this  is  some 
of  your  Paddy  ways  ! "  or,  with  a  sneering 
laugh,  "  How  thoroughly  Irish  you  are  !  " 

There  were  amusing  tales  told  by  the 
officers  of  their  country  partners.  One 
buxom  young  "  thing  "  kept  repeating  during 
the  waltz,  "  Ah,  don't,  captain  ;  I  tell  ye, 
don't  !  Tire  holdin  me  too  toight"  The 
101 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

captain,  a  grave,  literal  man,  could  only  say, 
"So  sorry,  I'm  sure.  I  never  intended,  etc." 
Presently  it  came  again  :  "  Ah,  captain,  do 
not;  ye're  holdin'  me  too  toight  altogether" 
On  this  the  matter-of-fact  partner  withdrew, 
but  offered  to  introduce  his  friend  as  more 
satisfactory.  But  presently  he  also  was  found 
to  be  "  holdin'  me  too  toight"  The  sprightly 
country  misses  were  ever  giggling,  or  thrown 
into  convulsions  by  the  sayings  of  their 
military  partners,  themselves  astonished  at 
the  effect  of  their  own  wit.  The  vocabulary 
of  one  of  these  maidens  was  limited  to 
"  Soch  Fon !  "  repeated  over  and  over  again. 

In  the  dearth  of  military,  the  country 
young  ladies  would  often  supplement  their 
admirers  by  the  officers  of  the  Royal  Irish 
Constabulary.  These  young  fellows  wore  a 
smart  green  uniform,  and  comported  them- 
selves much  as  their  brethren  of  the  army 
did.  They  were,  strictly  speaking,  policemen, 
but  the  fair  "  made  believe  "  in  this  matter. 
This  highly  trained  body  of  gendarmerie, 
102 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

for  such  they  are,  is  well  known  and  esteemed 
all  over  the  kingdom,  and  Charles  Dickens 
in  the  course  of  his  travels  through  the 
country  was  loud  in  his  praise  and  admiration 
of  their  civility  and  efficiency. 

A  prof  os  of  Boz,  when  he  and  his  retinue  were 
at  the  Dublin  station  of  the  Great  Northern 
Railway,  the  station-master,  a  very  rough 
customer,  insisted  that  the  apparatus  of  his 
show — the  violet  screen,  battens,  &c. — should 
be  paid  for  as  heavy  luggage.  It  was  a  grace- 
ful compliment,  paid  him  invariably  on  all  the 
English  lines,  that  no  charge  whatever  should 
be  made.  This  was  represented,  but  the 
station-master  declared  that  was  nothing  to 
him.  "  Who  was  Mr.  Dickens  that  he 
shouldn't  pay  like  every  body  else  ?  "  Un- 
gracious acts  like  these  have  done  serious 
injury  to  the  reputation  of  the  country  ;  no 
doubt  the  fellow  thought  he  was  exhibiting 
his  "  patriotism." 

Once     one     of    Boz's     merry     men     in 
Household    Words — Walter    Thornbury    by 
103 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

name — found  his  way  to  Dublin,  and 
wrote  a  highly  comic  description  of  all  its 
humours,  oddities,  and  absurdities,  height- 
ened, of  course,  to  make  an  effect.  It  was 
astonishing  the  fury  this  aroused  in  the 
local  press ;  article  after  article  appeared 
"  branding "  him  traitor  in  the  most  vehe- 
ment language.  But  Dickens  was  the  person 
for  whom  they  "  went,"  and  not  his  "wretched 
scribe."  Was  this  the  man  into  whose 
pockets  the  Dublin  public  had  poured  their 
thousands  ? 

At  one  time  there  came  over  a  couple  of 
young  men,  on  pleasure  bent,  who  arrived 
with  the  purpose  of  making  themselves  at 
home  and  enjoying  everything.  They  brought 
some  letters  of  introduction.  Their  names 

were    D and    M ,  the   first   being 

the  brother  of  a  great  artist.     D had 

a  marked  gift  for  society.  It  was  not  too 
much  to  say  that  he  got  to  know  anybody 
that  he  desired  to  know.  High  position 
seemed  to  make  it  all  the  easier.  In  a  short 
104 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

time  they  were  both  established  as  fashion- 
able men,  and  knew  everybody.  Now,  D 

was  but  an  average  pattern  of  man  enough — 
he  was  not  particularly  gifted,  or  well  read, 
or  a  talker.  As  far  as  I  could  make  out  his 
secret,  he  had  the  knack  of  being  able  to  say 
what  was  most  agreeable  to  his  listeners.  His 
success  went  on  without  interruption.  Ordi- 
nary persons  asked  him  because  he  knew 
great  people,  and  could  talk  familiarly  about 
them  before  the  guests.  He  had  a  fashion 
of  confidentially  whispering  in  the  ears  of 
high-born  dames.  His  intimacy  with  Lord 

P got  him  the  directorship  of  the  Irish 

Picture  Gallery,  which  for  many  years  he 
managed  with  great  success.  It  also  obliged 
him — a  thing  he  liked  much — to  make  in- 
numerable trips  to  London  "  on  business," 
that  is,  to  purchase  desirable  pictures  at 
Christie's  and  other  places,  while  he  took  care 
everywhere  to  flourish  himself  and  his  general 
exertions,  so  as  to  make  a  stir  and  a  noise. 

D became  quite  a  persona  grata  at  the 

105 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

court ;  knew  everybody  ;  dined  with  every- 
body. Had  I  been  an  ardent  society  man, 
I  must  have  envied  his  extraordinary  manner 
of  winning  his  way.  And  yet  it  must  be  said 
there  was  no  abasement  or  flattery — he 
maintained  an  independent  tone  and  manner. 
And  so  it  went  on.  Not  long  before  his 
death  I  was  hardly  surprised  to  hear  of  his 
walking  with  divers  royal  personages  at 
Homburg  on  the  most  easy  terms.  He  was 
not  much  of  an  artist  in  practice,  but  he  made 
his  gifts  go  as  far  as  they  could  be  made  to 
go.  As  a  judge  of  paintings,  however,  he 
was  really  excellent. 

As  illustrating  this  Terpsichorean  enthu- 
siasm of  Dublin,  I  recall  a  night  at  the  Exhi- 
bition Palace,  where  we  had  been  dancing  till 
one  o'clock,  when  a  spirited,  fairy-like  young 
creature  from  the  cold  north,  the  Hon.  Miss 

S ,   who   was   on    a   visit   to   her   aunt, 

brought  us  all   off  to  a  little  supper  at  her 

house,    which   we    enjoyed   for    an   hour  or 

more :  when  the  whole  party,  refreshed  and 

1 06 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

invigorated,  returned  to  the  ball-room,  where 
we  continued  our  mad  rounds  till  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  O  le  beau  temps  passe" ! 
O  jeunesse !  O  beaute !  neiges  d'automne,  ou 
sont-elles?  (Dumas,  ahem  !) 

Once  there  was  a  military  ball  at  the  old 
town  of  Drogheda.  We  thought  it  nothing  to 
go  down — a  journey  of  between  thirty  and 
forty  miles — dance  all  the  night,  and  come 
up  by  the  early  morning  train.  I  remember 
we  had  a  full  train,  every  one,  as  the  guard 
said,  "  dressed  to  the  ninety-nines."  It  was 
at  this  or  at  some  other  performance  that 
the  musicians  forgot  to  bring  their  music  ;  at 
all  events,  I  remember  distinctly  some  outsider 
was  impounded  to  play  the  bass.  He  learnt 
a  couple  of  notes,  which  he  used  impartially 
and  alternately  the  whole  night.  What  did 
it  matter  ?  No  one  cared.  What,  by  the 
way,  has  gone  with  that  queer  dance,  La 
Tempete — "  Tom  Pate  "  it  was  called — which 
at  one  time  was  all  the  rage,  and  whose 
movements  I  have  quite  forgotten  ? 
107 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

In  these  days  of  the  fifties  the  rale  ould 
Irish  gentleman  flourished  as  much  as  ever,  with 
his  old,  wild  ways.  A  governess  of  our  family 
went  in  the  same  capacity  to  the  house  of  a 
country  gentleman  to  take  charge  of  hi  s  daughter. 
He  was  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  man,  and  treated 
the  lady  with  the  most  grave  and  decorous 
attention.  But  there  were  riotous  times. 
She  told  a  strange  story  of  a  sort  of  orgy  at 
the  place.  A  largish  party  of  men  came  over 
from  the  races,  twenty  miles  away,  to  dine,  at 
about  nine  o'clock.  They  "  kept  it  up  "  well. 
The  governess  went  to  bed,  but  was  suddenly 
awakened  in  the  small  hours  and  in  the  broad 
daylight,  about  four  o'clock,  by  a  general 
uproar.  She  saw  the  whole  party  of  guests 
running  about  in  front  of  the  house  in  their 
shirts!  They  were  darting  in  and  out  among 
the  trees,  performing  the  wildest  antics,  all 
dead  or  mad  drunk,  jumping,  "  lepping," 
and  tumbling  into  the  ditches.  At  last  the 
horses  were  called  for  and  the  dogs  and  the 
horns,  and  away  the  mad  crew  went,  like 
108 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

Herne  the  Hunter,  flying  all  round  the  park. 

The  horns  were  winding.  There  was  one  G , 

apparently  a  discreet  personage,  but  he  was 
found  too  drunk  to  mount,  so  he  was  tumbled 
back  into  bed.  Every  now  and  again  the 
governess  would  hear  the  horns  winding  out 
in  different  directions,  as  the  mad  ride  went  on. 

Now,  this  G ,  waking  from  his  drunken 

slumbers,  gave  himself  a  rousing  shake,  and, 
hearing  the  cheerful  sounds,  jumped  up. 
He  was  seen  rushing  madly  out  of  the  little 
summer-house,  into  which  they  had  thrust 
him,  in  his  shirt,  joining  in  full  chase  across 
the  country.  It  was  now  the  early  dawn,  and 
the  peasants  were  hurrying  off  to  milk 
the  cows,  and  all  the  wild  men  were  pursuing 
them.  Then  came  into  view  some  of  the 
riders  who  now  had  on  dressing-gowns.  A 
rough  business  altogether  ! 

I  was  told  by  the  late  Earl  of  Lytton  a 

story  of  S r  F d,  an  Irishman  who 

at  one   time   was   a   good   deal   before   the 

public.      He    was    believed    to    be    "hard 

109 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

up,"  and  Mr.  Disraeli,  wishing  to  help  him, 
wrote  to  offer  him  one  of  the  great  Indian 
Governorships.  The  other  affectedly  wrote 
back,  "that  he  must  take  time  to  consider 
it."  As  "  Dizzy  "  said  indignantly  to  Lord 
Lytton,  "  Here  is  a  man  walking  about 
London,  his  pockets  stuffed  with  his  un- 
paid washerwoman's  bills — I  offer  him  a 
Governorship  worthy  of  a  Roman  pro- 
Consul,  and  he  writes  me  back  that  he  will 
consider  it  ! " 

There  was,  about  the  fifties,  a  regular  riot 
at  the  United  Service  Club,  in  St.  Stephen's 
Green;  the  officers  of  the  i6th  Lancers 
throwing  bread  and  potatoes  about,  smashing 
windows,&c.  Nine  were  expelled  the  club.  A 
certain  wild  lord  escaped,  though  it  is  said  he 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  "  row."  Indeed, 
the  officers  at  this  time  took  strange  licence 
and  did  very  doubtful  things.  I  was  one 
night  going  away  from  a  ball  with  a  young 
dragoon,  when  he  wanted  a  cigar.  "  Oh,  we 
always  try  the  coats,"  he  said,  and  proceeded 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

to  feel  all  the  pockets.     The  servants,  how- 
ever, grew  suspicious  and  interfered. 

I  suppose  in  no  society  could  be  found 
such  a  collection  of  lively  and  truly  humorous 
spirits  as  were  rife  about  the  time  of  the 
sixties.  The  fun  and  joviality  of  these 
pleasant  souls  was  truly  enjoyable.  There 
was  at  one  time  Corry  Connellan,  whose  jests 
are  still  retailed — but  rather  artificial  things, 
and  "  made  at  leisure."  Such  was  his  gibe 
at  a  certain  physician,  who  had  taken  an 
ex-convict  as  his  man-servant — to  show  his 
confidence — that  "  he  would  presently  be  the 
only  spoon  left  in  his  house."  How  superior, 
for  instance,  was  the  remark  of  some  one  when 
they  were  discussing  what  sort  of  inscription 
should  be  placed  on  the  tomb  of  an  eminent 
physician,  Sir  Henry  Marsh,  at  Mount 
Jerome.  "  Put  over  him  Sir  Christopher 
Wren's,"  said  this  person.  "  Si  monumentum  re- 
quiris,  circumspice"  This,  I  know,  was  repeated 
to  Dickens,  who  could  not  say  enough  of  its  wit. 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Some  years  ago  there  was  published  a 
delightful  collection  of  stories,  collected  by 
a  most  pleasant  being,  all  of  which  stories  I 
knew  well,  for  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  tell- 
ing them  with  infinite  fun  and  rollickingness. 
They  produced  a  great  impression.  This  was 
William  Le  Fanu,  a  high  Government  official 
and  general  diner-out.  Needless  to  say,  he 
used  to  keep  the  tables  in  a  roar.  His  genial 
expressive  Irish  was  part  of  the  dramatic 
effect.  And  yet  he  was  of  French  Huguenot 
descent,  like  so  many  of  the  Dublin  folk 
who  have  French  names  and  others.  Yet  I 
have  often  noticed  that,  with  all  their  strong 
Protestant  feelings  and  antipathies,  the  Pro- 
testant gentry  are  often  far  more  truly  Irish, 
more  sympathetic  with  the  natives,  understand 
their  ways  better,  and  regard  them  with  more 
interest  and  affection,  than  do  the  Catholics. 
I  am  speaking,  however,  of  those  old  days. 
William  Le  Fanu  was  heart  and  soul  with  the 
people,  and  could  talk  with  them  in  their  own 
way. 

112 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

But  in  Ireland  surprises  meet  us  at  every 
turn.  Often  the  most  Irish  of  Irishmen, 
the  most  racy  of  the  soil,  turn  out  to  be 
Englishmen  !  I  never  was  so  astonished  to 
find  that  two  of  my  countrymen,  in  whom 
I  had  a  sort  of  pride  and  faith,  were  regular 
Englishmen.  Such  were  Charles  Lever,  whose 
father  and  mother  were  English  born  and 
bred,  though  he  himself  chanced  to  have  been 
born  in  Ireland;  and  Sir  John  Stevenson, 
Moore's  colleague  in  the  Melodies,  who 
was  a  Scot.  Power,  the  best  of  stage  Irish- 
men, was  from  Wales.  I  have  known  two 
sons  of  an  English  family  settled  in  the 
country,  one  of  whom  remained  English  in 
heart,  manner,  and  accent  all  his  life,  while 
the  other  was  wholly  transformed  into  a  rough 
native  Irishman  and  spoke  with  a  brogue. 

I  remember  coming  up  with  this  William 
Le  Fanu  from  the  north,  a  journey  of  four 
hours  or  so.  There  was  a  friend  or  two  of 
his  own  with  him  and  a  couple  of  rather  stiff 
English  officers.  He  began  with  some  droll 
113  H 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

remarks  and  comments ;  then  followed  stories 
one  after  the  other,  convulsing  everybody,  the 
officers  particularly.  One  story  was  "  better 
than  the  other."  The  hours  flew  ;  one  of  the 
officers  said  to  me,  as  we  parted,  "  Who  is 
that  wonderful  man  ?  I  really  never  met  his 
like." 

His  brother  "Joe"  Le  Fanu,  the  well- 
known  novelist,  was,  in  his  way,  a  humorist 
too.  A  sort  of  Orangeman,  owner  of  a  very 
strongly  Protestant  paper  and  vehement  in 
his  attacks,  he  illustrated  the  curious  truth 
which  I  mentioned  before,  of  this  strange 
interest  and  sympathy  in  the  people.  From 
his  Huguenot  extraction  he  detested  the 
Roman  Catholic  "  errors,"  yet  no  one  had 
such  an  appreciation,  or  tender  regard,  for  the 
peasantry  and  their  ways  and  habits.  He 
even  wrote  a  rather  rebellious  story  ;  while 
some  of  his  ballads,  inflammatory  enough,  are 
well  known  and  admired  through  all  English- 
speaking  countries.  Most  people  know 
Shamus  0'2?r/>#,  that  powerful  lyric,  describ- 
114 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

ing  the  hanging  of  a  patriot,  with  an  exciting 
rescue.  His  brother  knew  these  things  by 
heart,  and  was  sometimes  prevailed  on  to 
recite  them,  which  he  did  with  singular 
dramatic  power  and  effect.  Gradually  the 
news  of  this  performance  spread.  After 
dinner  at  a  party  the  visitors  would  beg  him 
to  deliver  his  ballad,  and,  with  a  great  deal  of 
simplicity,  he  would  seat  himself  on  a  chair  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  begin.  It  was 
a  rare  treat.  There  was,  as  Mr.  Crummies 
says,  "  cheers,  tears,  and  laughter."  Gradually 
it  became  a  regular  institution.  He  could 
not  dine  anywhere  without  its  being  called 
for.  At  the  Castle  it  was  of  course  demanded. 
And  what  shall  I  say  of  that  son  of  Momus, 
Nedley,  doctor  to  the  police  force,  the  gayest, 
most  mercurial,  and  readiest  of  humorists  ! 
He  never  for  an  instant  failed  with  a  retort, 
which  was  indisputable,  and,  on  the  instant, 
carried  the  other  off  his  legs.  He  delighted 
in  encountering  literal  people.  As  when  he 
said  to  the  wife  of  a  famous  singer,  "  Why 
"5 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

don't  you  call  me  in  ?  I  hear  you  have  got 
some  local  murderer  to  attend  your  servant." 
"  Murderer,  Dr.  Nedley  ?  That  is  very 
uncalled  for.  I  don't  understand  you ; 
Dr. is  no  murderer."  He  then  pro- 
ceeded to  play  on  this  topic  to  the  delight  of 
her  husband. 

Dr.  Nedley  could  not  play  well  unless  he 
had  his  favourite  partner,  just  as  Dan  Leno  has 
his  Herbert  Campbell.  This  brings  us  to  one 
who  has  become  more  known  and  celebrated 
after  his  death  than  he  was  in  his  lifetime, 
viz.,  Father  Healey,  parish  priest  of  Little 
Bray.  Few  wits  have  made  such  a  reputation, 
or  have  been  so  relished  by  audiences  of  all 
kinds;  few  have  so  increased  "  the  gaiety  of 
nations  "  or  of  his  own  nation.  His  jests  were 
being  constantly  repeated,  passing  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  with  a  fresh  chuckle  every  time. 
In  appearance  he  was  like  one  of  Lever's 
jovial  priests,  with  a  round,  jocund,  amazingly 
cheerful  face,  which  brought  good  humour 
with  it  everywhere.  What  twinkling  eyes 
116 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

and  what  a  roguish  smile !  His  wit  was 
certainly  lively ;  it  was  always  practical,  and 
dealt  with  the  situation — not  a  mere  playing 
with  words.  Take,  for  instance,  his  pleasant 
saying  when  he  returned  from  travelling  in 
the  East,  with  a  friend,  who  had  paid  all 
expenses.  They  were  entering  a  tramcar  to 
go  to  Dublin — their  last  journey — when 
Father  Healey  peremptorily  restrained  his 
friend  from  paying  his  fare  :  "No,  no,  it's 
my  turn  now!  " 

A  good  specimen  of  his  "readiness,"  one 
which  he  related  to  me  himself,  was  his 
riposte  to  a  great  man,  Mr.  Gladstone,  who 
had  asked  him  to  one  of  his  breakfasts.  It 
was  a  rich  treat  to  hear  him  racily  touch 
off,  with  his  usual  ingenuity,  the  host  who 
had  gathered  an  odd  menagerie  of  free- 
thinkers and  others,  thinking,  perhaps,  there 
was  a  certain  piquancy  in  the  contrast  of 
elements.  In  the  course  of  the  meal  the 
great  man  said,  his  brow  contracted  with 
a  portentous  gravity,  "  What  would  you  say  to 
117 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

this,  Father  Healey  ?  On  the  door  of  a  church 
in  Rome  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  an  inscrip- 
tion that  an  indulgence  of  thousands  of  years 
was  to  be  had — all  for  the  sum  of  one  franc  ! 
What  do  you  say  to  that,  Father  Healey — one 
franc  ?  "  Every  one  was  listening.  "  Well, 
and  what  more  would  you  want  for  the 
money  ?  Isn't  it  dirt  cheap  ? "  This  was 
greeted  with  an  approving  roar  of  laughter; 
but  even  more  amusing  was  the  still  por- 
tentous brow  of  W.  E.  G.,  who  seemed  to 
think  the  point  had  been  merely  turned,  and 
not  fairly  met. 

When  he  and  his  friend  Nedley  were  at  the 
same  table,  then  the  fun  became  fast  and 
furious.  The  two  engaged  in  wit  contests; 
gibes,  personalities  of  the  most  excruciating 
kind  were  interchanged,  neither  was  for  a 
moment  at  a  loss  for  a  retort.  As  Dr. 
Johnson  would  say,  they  "  downed "  each 
other  in  the  most  amusing  fashion.  The 
servants  standing  by,  listening  open-mouthed, 
joined  in  the  hilarity  and  general  roar. 
1.8 


ftp  of  Dublin  Society 

With  this  attraction,  it  may  be  conceived, 
Father  Healey  was  in  perpetual  demand. 
As  he  told  me  himself,  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end  he  need  not  have  dined  a  single 
day  at  home.  He  was  persona  grata  at  the 
Viceroy's.  But  when  he  came  to  London  it 
was  very  extraordinary  how  much  he  was 
repandu.  I  have  met  him  in  Piccadilly,  when 
he  would  tell  me  that  he  had  just  been 
with,  some  royal  personage — dukes,  earls 
were  but  common  acquaintances.  One  day, 
on  asking  him  where  he  was  coming  from,  he 
said  casually,  "Just  been  lunching  with  the 
Salisbury*"  Personally,  I  confess  I  wish 
there  had  been  less  of  this  Momus  element 
in  him,  for  it  is  scarcely  compatible  with  a 
strict  round  of  clerical  life  ;  but  we  must 
have  indulgence  for  the  nature  of  the  man, 
which,  like  Foote's,  was  quite  "  incompres- 
sible "  :  and  also  on  account  of  the  immense 
influences  exercised  upon  him  and  the  tempta- 
tions held  out. 

There  was  yet  another  ecclesiastical  wit, 
119 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

also  a  great  pulpit  orator,  Father  Burke  of 
the  Dominicans,  of  a  fine  presence,  and  a 
face  like  that  of  Sterne's  monk,  that  was 
"  mild,  pale,  and  penetrating."  He  had  the 
true  fire  and  burning  words.  It  was  cer- 
tainly a  rare  treat  to  hear  him,  but  I  never 
could  concede  his  claims  to  be  a  wit  or 
humorist.  He  was  a  mere  joker  and  doer 
of  practical  jokes. 

The  late  W.  J.  or  Dr.  FitzPatrick,  "  the 
modern  Suetonius,"  collected  all  these  efforts, 
and  formed  them  into  what  was  called  "  A 
Life,"  in  which  he  unconsciously  produced 
an  effect  the  very  opposite  of  what  he  in- 
tended; and  as  a  result  the  poor  monk  is 
portrayed  as  a  rather  unclerical,  highly 
grotesque  being.  He  worked  also  in  the 
same  spirit  on  Father  Healey,  Archbishop 
Whately,  Lady  Morgan,  O'Connell,  and 
others,  adding  certainly  a  new  terror  to 
death.  And  he  was  also  a  source  of  some 
alarm  to  the  living.  He  was  perpetually 
groping  among  old  papers,  letters,  and  the 

120 


<3f  of  Dublin  Society 

like,  and  discovering  awkward  secrets.  He 
would  tell  you  in  a  cosy  way,  and  in  his  high 
treble  :  "I  have  just  purchased  a  number  ot 
curious  documents,  in  one  of  which  there  is 
a  curious  transaction  relating  to  your  grand- 
father. Did  you  ever  know  that  he  had  a 
salary  from  the  Government  to  act  as  spy, 
&c.  ?  I  have  all  the  documents." 

There  comes  before  me  now  that  eccentric 
being — antiquarian,  writer,  novelist — W.  R. 
Wilde,  afterwards  Sir  William,  father  of  that 
luckless  pair,  Oscar  and  William.  He  culti- 
vated an  abrupt  Abernethy  style  to  his 
patients.  He  was  certainly  very  clever,  and 
was  the  husband  of  the  fair  poetess  Spe- 
ranza,  as  she  signed  herself,  a  rather  lan- 
guishing heroine.  Wilde  had  a  wit  of  his 
own,  as  when  he  addressed  a  certain  Miss 
Mary  Travers,  who  later  on  brought  an 
action  against  him,  as  "Ernest  Moll  Travers." 
His  travels  are  interesting,  as  is  his  mono- 
graph on  Dean  Swift's  madness.  The  dean's 
skull  was  dug  up  and  handed  round  at  a 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

scientific  meeting,  at  which  one  of  the  neck 
bones  disappeared !  The  fate  of  his  two 
sons  was  disastrous,  and  a  warning  to  the 
young  Irish  adventurer  who  thinks  he  can 
bite  the  pitiless  granite  of  London.  William 
Wilde  was  the  typical  Bohemian,  the  Irish 
strain  superimposed.  He  passed  through  all 
manner  of  shifts  and  adventures,  and  "  fell 
on  his  feet "  once  at  least,  having  married 
a  rich  American,  who  tranquilly  discarded 
him,  owing  to  his  own  fault  and  folly. 
His  brother's  pieces  are  being  played  at 
this  moment  :  his  affectations,  ridiculed  in 
Patience -,  were  for  a  time  an  enjoyment.  I 
always  delighted  in  that  speech  of  his  when 
he  went  to  America,  which  was  telegraphed 
over  to  Europe,  "  that  he  was  much  dis- 
appointed in  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 

There  was  indeed  an  extraordinary  group 
of  Irishmen  who  all  about  the  same  time  set 
off  to  seek  their  fortune  in  London.  These 
were  the  two  Wildes,  the  two  Moores — George 
and  Augustus — and  G.  Bernard  Shaw,  son  of 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

a  Fellow  of  Trinity.  Some  of  them  were 
brilliant,  others  clever,  and  all  had  a  certain 
"go"  and  originality  and  a  dash  of  Bohe- 
mianism.  Their  adventures  must  have  been 
exciting,  and  they  certainly  have  succeeded 
in  exciting  public  attention. 

There  was  a  worthy,  much  respected  priest 
attached  to  Westland  Row  Chapel,  a  place 
about  the  size  of  a  small  cathedral,  yet  oddly 
styled  a  chapel.  This  was  Canon  Pope,  and 
a  curious  personage  he  was.  He  was  affected 
by  an  extravagant  and  exuberant  loyalty  to 
her  late  Majesty  and  the  Royal  Family  at 
any  crisis,  such  as  an  escape  from  an  assassin. 
At  the  mere  rumour  of  her  coming  over  to 
visit  the  country  the  canon's  emotions  were 
stirred,  and  he  would  address  the  august 
lady  a  letter  couched  in  terms  of  almost 
hysterical  affection  and  admiration.  Her 
Majesty  used  to  acknowledge  these  ad- 
dresses in  kindly  terms.  All  his  sermons 
were  in  the  same  rapturous  and  exaggerated 
style.  I  once  heard  him  say,  and  I  give 
123 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

it  "  textually,"  as  the  French  have  it — 
"  Some  men  will  sell  their  souls  for  titles 
and  wealth  ;  some  for  an  emolumentary  situa- 
tion ;  and  some,"  here  he  paused  to  make  it 
more  impressive,  "for  nothing  at  all!"  I 
heard  that,  I  know  not  how  many  years 
ago,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  the  delicious 
unctuousness  of  that  "em-olu-ment-ary  si-tu- 
ation  ;  "  he  lingered  over  the  syllables  softly, 
as  though  he  himself  would  not  have  been 
disinclined  to  some  such  situation.  It  was  the 
same  on  any  public  crisis — a  burning  down, 
a  murder,  when  the  Canon's  feeling  broke 
forth  in  a  sort  of  flowery  and,  I  must  say, 
meaningless  "lingo"  that  was  all  his  own. 
The  occasion,  however,  on  which  he  excelled 
himself  was  on  the  return  of  the  Irish  brigade 
from  the  war.  They  had  volunteered  to 
assist  his  Holiness,  and  "  Major  O'Reilly  of 
Knockabbey  Castle  "  commanded.  The  party 
was  besieged  in  Spoleto,  and  after  a  brief 
period  duly  surrendered  as  prisoners  of  war. 
After  a  time  they  were  released  and  sent  home. 
124 


^f  of  Dublin  Society 

The  populace  swarmed  to  the  terminus  to 
greet  their  heroes,  among  the  rest  our  Canon, 
who  was  to  make  his  grandest,  most  florid 
speech  of  welcome  on  the  occasion.  He  was 
quite  carried  away  ;  he  saw  the  battle-fields, 
the  desperate  struggle,  and  finally  broke  out : 
"Ah,  my  friends,  the  Irish  Guards  know  well 
how  to  die,  but  to  surrender — never/"  A 
long  shout  greeted  this  astonishing  declaration, 
made  in  the  most  perfect  belief  and  good 
faith,  but  exquisitely  comic,  when  we  think 
that  it  was  addressed  to,  and  cheered  by,  men 
who  actually  had  not  died,  and  were  actually 
where  they  were  because  they  had  surrendered  ! 
It  never  occurred  to  any  one  that  the  Canon's 
oration  was  not  all  gospel  truth.  It  was  duly 
printed  in  the  papers,  and  much  admired. 

I  bethink  me  here  of  another  cheerful 
divine,  still  happily  flourishing,  who  once 
contributed  much  to  the  gaiety  of  the  city — 
Chancellor  Tisdall,  Chancellor  of  St.  Doulagh. 
He  was  ever  a  jocund  being,  tall  and  portly, 
full  of  good  stories,  with  a  penchant  for  actors, 
125 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

of  whom  he  had  known  many  great  ones  of 
the  old  school.  We  are  not  strait-laced  in 
Dublin,  and  there  is  held  to  be  no  incongruity 
in  these  things.  Our  chancellor  had  a  rich 
tenor  voice,  and  sang  old  ballads  with  infinite 
taste.  How  would  he  give  "  Come  into  the 
Garden"  or  "  My  Pretty  Jane,"  to  the  enrap- 
turing of  the  well-filled  diners  out !  Once 
at  one  of  these  banquets  there  was  deep  dis- 
appointment when  it  was  found  there  was  no 
pianist  to  accompany  the  chancellor,  who 
thereupon  appealed  to  me  to  help  him. 
Nothing  loth,  I  sat  down,  extemporised  some 
chords,  and  we  got  through  admirably. 

Apropos,  when  a  well-known  publisher  came 
to  Dublin,  some  client  entertained  him — and 
myself — at  dinner  ;  the  subject  of  music  was 
started,  and  our  publisher  volunteered  a  song, 
which  was  an  old  and  old-fashioned  friend — 
"Sally  in  our  Alley."  Our  host  lamented 
that  there  was  no  one  present  who  knew  the 
art  of  accompaniment,  so  we  must  be  deprived 
of  the  pleasure,  &c.  "  Dear  me,  not  at  all," 
126 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

said  the  guest,  who  was  rather  antediluvian 
both  in  manner  and  garb  ;  "  the  fact  is,  I 
never  do  sing  it  with  an  accompaniment ;  it 
spoils  the  tune."  And  without  more  ado, 
and  pushing  his  chair  a  little  forward  out  of 
the  circle,  he  struck  up  "  Of  all  the  girls,"  &c. 
He  went  through  it  with  all  the  old  flourish- 
ings  and  eye-upturnings,  doing,  in  fact,  what 
the  street  ballad -singer  told  her  offspring 
to  do  :  "  Curl  it — curl  it,  ye  little  beggar." 
There  were  a  number  of  young  girls  and 
irreverent  youths  present,  whose  suppressed 
laughter  it  was  painful  to  witness.  All,  indeed, 
were  struggling  with  the  same  emotion,  but 
when  the  regular  shake  came  at  the  close  there 
was  very  near  by  a  general  explosion. 

Who  will  forget  the  roistering  Lord  C , 

of  the  rubicund  face  and  convivial  habits, 
who  was  always  pervading  Dublin,  and 
concerning  whom  there  was  always  some 
strange  tale  circulating  !  He  was  a  survival 
of  the  old  Irish  pattern,  fond  of  his  glass, 
and  not  having  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine's 
127 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

method  of  carrying  his  liquor  discreetly.  It 
was  said  he  would  "  drop  in  "  at  any  officers' 
mess  whenever  it  suited  him,  and  without  in- 
vitation— an  unceremonious  practice  that  was 
not  relished. 

Some  of  us  will  no  doubt  be  able  to  recall 
that  odd  wild  being  "Tom  Connolly,"  one 
of  the  last  survivors  of  the  "  rale  ould  Irish 
gintleman,"  who  did  all  sorts  of  strange  reck- 
less things,  which  yet  astonished  nobody, 
because  done  by  "  Tom  Connolly."  He  was 
a  thoughtless,  joyous,  good-humoured  fellow, 
and  a  good-natured  one  too.  He  was  spoken 
of  as  "Tom  Connolly  of  Castletown,"  his 
place  in  the  country,  a  good  many  miles 
from  Dublin.  Castletown  we  always  sup- 
posed to  be  something  magnificent — after  the 
Chatsworth  pattern — too  grand  altogether  for 
a  private  gentleman.  Here  he  once  gave  a  sort 
of  grotesque  entertainment,  half  "  afternoon," 
half  ball,  which  began  at  about  four  o'clock, 
and  lasted  till  one  or  two  in  the  morning.  A 
vast  number  of  people  drove  down  to  the  jovial 
128 


^f  of  Dublin  Society 

scene.  I  was  much  astonished  to  see  this  vast 
and  stately  mansion,  a  huge  central  palace  with 
spreading  wings,  and  vast  and  palatial  chambers 
within  ;  but  all  in  a  dreadful  state  of  dilapi- 
dation and  neglect.  Tom  was  everywhere,  in 
a  bright  blue  tail-coat  and  gilt  buttons,  dancing 
with  every  one,  in  an  old-fashioned  style,  and 
keeping  the  fun  going.  What  a  revel  it  was  ! 
The  hours  did  not  pass  too  slowly.  Towards 
midnight  I  went  out  to  try  and  find  our 
vehicle,  if  I  could  by  some  happy  chance  ; 
for  all  were  herded  together  in  a  confused 
mass  on  the  lawn  and  in  the  road,  or  every- 
where. Seeking  in  vain  in  the  front,  I  thought 
I  would  pass  round  through  to  the  back,  and 
the  next  instant  found  myself  precipitated 
down  a  deep  sunk  fence,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  I  lay  with  my  face  turned  to  the  stars. 
I  was  only  a  little  stunned,  but  found  great 
difficulty  in  rescuing  myself  from  the  abyss. 
It  was  a  narrow  escape  indeed,  as  it  was  all 
lined  with  stones  at  the  bottom.  I  could  not 
but  think  of  the  grim  story  that  might  have 
129  i 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

found  its  way  into  the  papers  :  the  family 
vainly  waiting  and  searching,  and  then  at  last 
the  suggestion:  "Oh,  of  course  he  went  back 
to  town,"  where  equally  of  course  he  would 
not  be  found.  This  "  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  a  gentleman  "  would  have  been  a  two- 
days  wonder  or  talk. 

This  entertainment  suggests  another  of  a 
rather  singular  kind,  given  by  an  American 
lady,  no  other  than  the  mother  of  the  patriot, 
Charles  Stewart  Parnell,  who  must  then  have 
been  in  his  frocks.  It  was  a  sort  of "  go  as 
you  please  "  show.  There  was  to  be  a  late 
lunch,  then  a  tea,  and  then  a  sort  of  dinner, 
to  be  followed  by  a  dance.  The  idea  was 
that  the  guest  was  to  take  up  his  residence  in 
the  house  for  this  protracted  period  !  I  recall 
meeting  there  the  pleasant  Dion  Boucicault, 
then  bringing  out  his  <Arrah  na  Pogue  for 
the  first  time.  When  I  congratulated  him  on 
his  success  he  said  coolly  :  "  No  success  at  all, 
my  boy  ;  won't  do,  and  must  be  done  over 
again."  And  so  it  was.  The  skilful,  well- 
130 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

trained  dramatist  cut  away  a  vast  portion  and 
re-wrote  the  rest.  Mrs.  Parnell  had  a  bevy 
of  pretty  daughters  who  did  their  best  to 
stimulate  the  proceedings,  but  the  fact  was, 
no  one  knew  why  on  earth  he  was  there,  or 
what  was  to  be  done  next,  so  the  thing  gradually 
languished  out,  and,  quietly  folding  our  tents, 
we  stole  away  very  early.  Who  could  have 
dreamed,  looking  that  night  on  the  interesting 
family,  what  a  strange  chapter  was  to  follow  ? 
We  had  a  humorist  who  had  an  amazing 
flow  of  what  might  be  called  simulated 
oratory.  Often  after  supper  he  would  stand 
up  and  make  amazing  speeches  of  the  most 
diverting  kind.  If  there  were  a  guest  present, 
he  would  set  off  with  an  imaginative  biography 
of  the  visitor,  done  minutely  and  with  an 
extraordinary  air  of  veracity.  Thus  :  "  At 
this  period  of  his  life,  our  hero,  gentlemen, 
became  involved  in  a  very  awkward  affair, 
which,  as  he  is  present,  I  should  like  to  pass 
by ;  only  I  am  bound  to  say,  as  I  find  that  he 
did  not  acquit  himself  with  all  the  credit  we 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

might  have  expected,  &c."  Then  would 
follow  some  odd,  grotesque  history,  told  as  in 
a  newspaper  case,  with  name  and  dates,  to 
the  great  embarrassment  of  the  victim.  Once 
a  dull  man  gave  a  song,  "  I'm  afloat,"  but 
in  quite  a  faint,  squeaky  voice  which  he  called 
a  tenor.  When  he  had  concluded,  our  orator 
leaped  to  his  feet  to  propose  the  singer's 
health  in  almost  passionate  terms  of  admira- 
tion. "  Never,"  he  said,  "  was  such  floods  of 
sound,  nay,  he  would  say  such  cataracts  of 
sound,  poured  out  on  mortal  ears  since  the 
days  of  Orpheus.  The  delight,  the  rapturous 
enjoyment  their  friend  had  furnished  would 
never,  &c."  Another  innocent  stranger  would 
be  gravely  remonstrated  with,  "  I  see,  sir,  in 
your  face  *  amorous  propensities  ' — his  one 
failing,  gentlemen — which  have  already  led 
him  into  such  embarrassment,  and  which 
may  eventually  wreck  an  otherwise  blameless 
life."  These  fooleries  were  entertaining 
enough. 

I  never  forgot  a  strange  clergyman  of  my 
132 


feP  of  Dublin  Society 

acquaintance  whom  I  met  in  a  bookseller's 
shop.  "  Look  at  this,"  he  said,  showing  me 
a  book,  "  The  Glories  of  Women  " — "a  noble 
work.  I  got  it  over  without  a  moment's 
delay.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  marry  at 
once.  You  see,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  the  supe- 
riority of  women  over  men  is  as  a  circle  is  to 
a  right  line.  Now,  women  are  all  circles  ;  not 
so  men."  He  left  me  with  this  cryptic  utter- 
ance. The  incident  has  always  puzzled  me, 
though  it  is  forty  years  since.  Another 
divine,  who  was  preaching  on  riches,  sud- 
denly turned  to  the  stalls,  as  it  were,  and 
broke  out,  "  And  you  rich,  what  are  ye  ? 
Nothing  but  dirt,  scum,  filth,  maggots,  that's 
what  ye  all  are."  The  persons  so  addressed 
grew  quite  uncomfortable.  Another,  who 
was  much  interrupted  by  coughs,  suddenly 
stopped,  and  then  said  simply,  "  Coughin' 
must  cease,"  as  though  it  were  sufficient  to 
give  his  order.  At  another  church  the  custom 
was  to  ring  a  bell,  after  twenty  minutes  or  so, 
when  the  preacher  had  to  stop — even  in  the 
'33 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

middle  of  a  sentence — and  descend.  One 
of  our  family  was  present  when  the  clergyman 
said  he  would  deal  first  with  the  objections 
made  to  the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Being — 
which  he  put  very  forcibly.  Just  as  he  was 
about  to  begin  to  demolish  these  heresies  the 
bell  rang  and  he  had  to  come  down,  leaving 
behind  him  the  bane  without  the  antidote. 

The  pleasant  fellows  about  were  always 
ready  enough  with  their  quips.  As,  when  it 
was  debated  what  name  should  be  taken  by  an 

amateur  dramatic  club,  Sir  J C 

suggested  "  The  Gnostics,"  i.e.,  "  the  No- 
Sticks."  Good  too  was  the  suggested  text  for 
a  sermon  at  the  opening  of  the  restored  St. 
Patrick's — "  Who  shall  be  for  us  if  God  be 
agin'  us" — (a  Guinness) — a  text,  it  was 
added,  to  be  found  in  "  He-brews."  A 
fellow  in  court,  pressed  about  some  meeting, 
said,  "  My  lord,  I  heard  them  making  a  randy 
voo." 

There  was  a  good  story  told  of  Lord  Naas, 
later  better  known  as  Lord  Mayo,  the  ill- 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

fated    Governor   of   India.     He   was   much 
interested  in  fowl- breeding.      One  morning, 
before   a  number  of  guests,  he  read  out  a 
letter  from  his  breeder  about  a  particular  hen 
of  whom  he  had  great  hopes — "  She  has  laid 
an  egg,  but  will  not  hatch ;  so,  your  lordship 
being    absent  in  Dublin,  I  put  it  under  the 
goose."      The  reader  was  so  interested  in  the 
information    that   he   did   not    perceive   the 
equivoque    until    the  wily  Corry  Connellan, 
court  jester  at  the  time,  gravely  asked  him  to 
read  the  passage  again,  and  to  read  it  slowly. 
Nothing  is  more  curious  in  Dublin  than 
the  airy,  general,  easy  fashions  of  despatching 
business    which    suggest     Leigh    Hunt — or 
Skimpole.     I  knew  a  friend  of  mine  who  was 
about    to    be    married — a    rather    important 
alliance — and  it  had  come  to  the  wedding-day 
— to  about  noon.    The  ceremony  was  for  two 
o'clock.    "Jove  !  "  said  the  bridegroom,  "  and 
there's  the  settlements  not  signed  yet !  "    We 
hurried  to  the  solicitor's  office.     Solicitor  not 
"  in,"   but   would  be   "  by-and-by."       After 
'35 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

waiting  some  time — "  Oh,  he's  sure  to  turn 
up,"  said  my  friend — our  solicitor  came 
lounging  in,  and  in  a  leisurely  way  the  thing 
was  done.  My  friend — a  light-hearted 
fellow — actually  forgot  to  take  his  tickets  at 
Kingstown,  and,  rushing  ashore,  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  being  left  behind.  His  friends 
diverted  themselves  picturing  the  situation  of 
the  bride  carried  off,  making  the  journey 
without  her  mate  and  so  on. 

Chief  Justice  Doherty,whomO'Connell  nick- 
named "Dirty  Doherty,"  gave  Mr.  Le  Fanu 
a  pleasant  account  of  a  dinner  given  in  St. 
Stephen's  Green  to  do  honour  to  the  son  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  then  quartered  in  Dublin.  He  was 
a  "  heavy  dragoon,"  and  as  it  proved,  in  more 
senses  than  the  technical  one.  Great  attention 
was  paid  to  him ;  and  Doherty,  Bushe,  and 
others  tried  hard  to  "  bring  him  out,"  but 
nothing  could  be  extracted.  He  continued 
eating  his  dinner  and  wiping  his  moustache. 
At  last,  towards  the  end,  as  though  feeling  he 
was  expected  to  do  something  for  the  credit 
136 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

of  the  honoured  name  he  bore,  he  abruptly 
broke  out — a  propos  of  nothing — "  Ma  twa 
aunts  had  a  pairott — ane  day,  o'  a  sudden,  the 
pairott  flapped  its  wings  and  ca'd  oot  *  Laird 
a  maircy  ! '  and  then  the  pairott  just  dropped 
down  dead  !  "  He  then  stopped  abruptly 
and  went  on  eating.  Doherty  and  the 
others  could  only  say  "  most  curious  !  " — 
"  highly  interesting  " — and  there  was  general 
amusement.  But  the  young  man  said  no 
more. 

Walking  with  a  pleasant  doctor,  we  passed 
his  house.  "  1  must  go  in  for  one  moment," 

he  said.  "  Old used  to  say,  never  pass 

your  house,  for  you  never  know  but  that  there 
may  be  a  rat  in  the  trap."  When  he  came  out 
he  said,  "  Oh,  there  was  nothing  but  one  of 
the  God-reward-you  sort."  Old  Bushe  sent 
down  to  his  doctor — "  Tell  him  I'm  too  ill  to 
see  him  to-day."  An  attorney  once  said  to 
me,  "  Now,  of  all  places  in  the  kingdom  I 
give  my  vaito  for  Scotland." 

I  was  told  of  an  Irish  valet  whom  a  newly 
137 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

married  pair  had  taken  with  them  on  their 
travels.  On  arriving  at  their  first  hotel  the 
husband,  who  was  somewhat  shy,  cautioned 
his  servant  not  to  say  anything  about  the 
marriage,  so  that  they  should  pass  as  ordinary 
folk  and  not  be  remarked.  "  Oh,  depind 
on  me  ;  I'll  not  let  on,  sir,"  said  Pat.  During 
the  next  day  he  noticed  that  they  were 
much  stared  at,  and  that  the  guests  kept 
carefully  away.  "  Now,  you  rascal,"  said  the 
master,  "  I  see  that  you  have  been  blabbing 
what  I  told  you  to  keep  secret."  "As  I 
live,  sir,  not  a  word  !  Didn't  I  tell  every 
wan  of  them  that  ye's  wasn't  married,  as  ye's 
told  me  to  say."  This  may  have  been  one 
of  Father  Healey's  stories.  Pat's  way  of 
not  "  letting  on  "  was  original. 

A  rather  simple  lady  of  our  acquaintance 
once  wrote  to  us  :  "  Could  you  give  me  an  in- 
vitation/or the  enclosed  gentleman  ?"  I  heard 
one  of  the  judges,  who  had  a  forcible  diction  of 

his  own,  say  :  "  Now,  Mr. ,  what's  the 

use   of    your    goin'    on    with    this  ?     You 
138 


ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

haven't  the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  a  stick  of 
a  leg  to  stand  on  !  " 

There  were  aggressive  divines  who  thun- 
dered and  assailed  each  other,  such  as  the  Rev. 
Tresham  Gregg,  nicknamed  "  Thrashem  " 
Gregg,  and  another  Gregg,  later  a  bishop, 
who  had  a  church  of  his  own,  always  spoken 
of  by  the  car-drivers  as  "  Gregg's  Church." 

I  came  to  know  Anthony  Trollope  very 
well,  and  liked  him  much.  I  once  met  him 
in  London  at  a  dinner-party — we  were  next 
each  other — when  he  began  to  talk  with 
much  enjoyment  of  the  happy  time  in 
Dublin  when  he  was  in  the  Post  Office. 
His  mother's  influence  procured  him  this 
situation.  Poor  "  Mother  Trollope  "  is  now 
forgotten,  yet  she  furnished  great  amusement 
with  her  "  Widow  Barnaby  "  and  other  stories 
which  were  looked  for  and  expected,  and 
came  out  regularly.  Mrs.  Gore  was  another 
of  the  permanent  purveyors  of  fiction.  But 
to  return  to  Anthony.  He  was  devoted  to 
hunting,  yet  how  was  a  poor  low-salaried 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

clerk  to  enjoy  such  a  luxury  ?  His  way  was 
to  pick  up  some  useful  animal  for  £20  or  so, 
and  he  managed  to  get  a  couple  of  days  in 
the  week  with  the  Ward  Union.  He 
never  enjoyed  life  so  much,  he  said.  Poor 
Anthony  !  He  proposed  me  for  the  Garrick 
Club,  and  did  me  other  services. 

It  was  astonishing  how  many  Englishmen 
came  to  live  in  Ireland  to  enjoy  the  hunting, 
which  was  really  excellent.  Excellent  Irish- 
men they  became,  and  I  noticed  were  always 
kind  and  sympathetic  to  the  natives,  whom 
they  understood  and  liked,  and  who  liked 
them.  There  was  one,  however — a  sort  of 
Cockney — whose  perpetually  dropping  "  h's  " 
caused  constant  amusement.  A  favourite 
formula  of  his  was  :  "  I  bought  an  'ack,  but 
he  turned  out  an  'unter.  What  'urts  hall 
the  'orses  'ere  is  the  'ammering  them  along 
the  'ard  'igh  roads."  This  speech  was  partly 
manufactured  for  him,  but  he  was  often  led 
to  repeat  it. 

The  extra-refined  style  of  pronouncing 
140 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

English  affected  by  certain  genteel  folk  was 
well  illustrated  by  a  superfine  lady  of  our 
acquaintance,  who  announced  to  us  one  day 
that  she  had  "just  bought  a  broacket  for  her 
cloak"  This  was  thought  to  be  some  sort 
of  rich  trimming,  but  what  was  meant  was 
that  she  had  purchased  "  a  bracket  for  her 
clock."  Better  still  was  the  speech  of  a 
hospitable  nobleman  pressing  a  guest  to  eat  : 
"  Lane  on  it,  my  boy,  lane  on  it." 

It  had  an  odd  effect  to  hear  a  witness  in 
court  say  impressively  that  "if  he  were  to  do 
such  a  thing,  he  hoped  it  would  be  the  last 
day  of  his  life."  More  grotesque  was  the 
solemn  declaration  of  an  honest  peasant  : 
"  May  I  never  sin  again,  sir,  if  I'm  not 
telling  you  the  truth." 

There  was  a  clever  but  somewhat  eccentric 
Professor  and  Fellow  of  Trinity  College — 
the  Rev.  Samuel  Haughton — who  was  noted 
for  his  various  hobbies  and  discussions.  He 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  the  Zoological 
Gardens  among  the  animals,  upon  whom  he 
141 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

sometimes  performed  curious  operations  ;  for 
he  was  a  surgeon  as  well  as  a  cleric.  His 
quaintest  fancy  was  his  taking  up  the  subject 
of  execution  by  hanging.  He  made  profound 
scientific  investigations  into  what  should  be 
the  proper  fall  or  "  drop  "  to  ensure  death, 
and  arrived  at  a  formula  by  which  the  length 
of  the  rope  was  worked  out  mathematically. 
He  was  in  communication  with  Calcraft, 
Marwood,  and  other  Professors,  one  of  whom 
he  at  last  prevailed  on  to  submit  his  theory  to 
actual  practice.  On  the  first  experiment,  to 
the  general  horror,  the  Professor's  "  drop " 
was  so  efficacious  that  the  unfortunate 
criminal's  head  was  actually  twisted  off! 

There  was  a  report  current  in  the  city  that 
a  well-known  personage  was  dead,  and  for  a 
few  days  it  was  accepted  ;  but  presently  it  was 
announced  that  the  personage  was  alive  and 
well.  The  news  gave  general  satisfaction — 
save  to  one,  who  appeared  discontented. 
"  Oh,  it's  most  annoying,"  he  said  to  a 
friend,  "  and  most  awkward  too,  for  me. 
142 


S?  of  Dublin  Society 

The  fact  is,  I  have  been  telling  all  sorts  of 
things  about  him  on  the  assumption  that 
he  was  dead."  "  But  if  they  were  true  ? " 
said  the  friend.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  about 
that,"  said  the  other,  pettishly ;  "  that's 
not  the  point.  It's  really  most  awkward 
for  me." 

Once  there  came  to  Kingstown,  in  a  small 
war  steamer,  Prince  Napoleon,  the  son  of 
Jerome  and  the  nephew  of  the  Great  One. 
It  was  curious  what  an  excitement  this  caused 
among  the  populace,  who  followed  him  and 
his  officers  about  the  streets,  to  his  visible 
annoyance.  I  have  also  seen  in  court 
Madame  Bonaparte  Wyse — an  absurd  frantic 
woman — niece  of  the  great  Napoleon.  They 
received  many  invitations  to  parties  where 
the  hostesses'  French  must  have  amused  the 
officers.  Thus  I  often  heard  "  Purmetty-moi 
de  vous  antrodweere" — and  you  heard  on  all 
sides  the  refusal  "No  mercy"  The  officers 
would  bow  gravely.  I  remember  seeing  his 
father  in  Paris,  and  it  was  a  curious  thing  to 
'43 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

look  on  the  yellow  Italian  features  with  the 
"  nutcracker  "  nose  and  chin.  There  was 
another  nephew — Prince  Lucien — some  years 
ago  going  about  London,  whose  features 
offered  the  same  striking  likeness.  His  burial 
was  an  extraordinary  one,  and  an  account  of 
it  was  given  to  me  by  one  who  attended  it. 
He  was  first  shown  lying  in  state  on  his  bed 
arrayed  in  full  evening  dress — white  tie — 
and  the  broad  riband  of  the  Legion  across 
his  breast.  He  was  then  put  into  a  shell, 
"  all  accoutred  as  he  was,"  and  transported  to 
Kensal  Green  to  an  open  grave,  into  which 
he  was  let  down — in  his  evening  dress  and 
coffinless  !  This  was  told  me  by  Charles 
Kent,  a  well-known  person,  and  I  took  it 
down  in  writing  the  same  day. 

What  extraordinary,  reckless  experiments 
were  made  in  the  appointments  of  Irish  Secre- 
taries !  What  could  be  more  rash  and  wanton 
than  sending  the  son  of  the  great  Sir  Robert 
Peel  ?  He  already  had  had  "  a  record  "  of 
intemperate  violence  in  Switzerland  and 
144 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

other  places.  It  was  notorious  that  he  could 
not  carry  his  liquor  discreetly — like  Scott's 
Baron  ;  he  was  constantly  in  riots  and 
scuffles.  And  this  was  the  man  that  a  saga- 
cious government — old  Pam's — named  to  a 
very  critical  post !  What  might  be  expected 
followed.  There  were  constant  adventures, 
disappearances — strange  tales  hushed  up,  and 
the  like.  It  must  be  said  that  he  was  popular 
with  the  people,  who  treated  his  escapades 
indulgently.  The  curious  element  was  that 
the  cold  and  classical  Lady  Emily  Peel,  the 
refined,  high-born  dame,  who  looked  on, 
disdaining  to  notice,  finding  it  useless  to 
check  these  excesses,  went  her  road,  and  left 
him  to  his  own  devices. 

When  Chichester  Fortescue,  who  later 
became  Lord  Carlingford,  was  Chief  Secre- 
tary, he  brought  with  him  his  wife,  the  much- 
married  Countess  of  Waldegrave.  This 
high  dame  kept  "things  humming,"  as  it  is 
termed,  and  there  was  nothing  but  dinners 
and  balls,  and  concerts  and  plays,  with  relays 
145  K 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

of  great  folks  on  visits.  Mr.  Fortescue,  a 
correct,  exceedingly  gentlemanly  "  pusson," 
was  completely  put  in  the  shadow  by  the  lime- 
light in  which  his  energetic  partner  moved 
about  the  stage.  As  all  knew,  he  was  her 
fourth  husband ;  the  first  being  Mr.  Walde- 
grave,  her  second  the  Earl  his  brother,  the 
third  Mr.  Harcourt,  and  finally  Mr.  For- 
tescue. In  spite  of  these  mutations,  she  was 
really  .  well  preserved — "  got  up  "  in  the 
most  juvenile  fashion — and  passed  for  a 
middle-aged  lady.  This  idea  was  strengthened 
by  her  animation  and  activity.  There  were 
stories  of  the  long  hours  spent  in  the  morn- 
ing, preparing  that  wonderful  face  for  the 
day. 

I  heard  from  a  contemporary  of  hers  that, 
when  the  eccentric  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  his 
wife,  found  that  her  husband  was  going  to 
Ireland  as  Secretary,  she  was  most  eager  to 
go  with  him,  saying  to  Lady  Morgan:  "  Oh, 
it  would  be  so  nice  to  get  a  lodging  in  Hoey's 
Court  !  "  Hoey's  Court  was  a  mere  slum 
146 


(§f  of  Dublin  Society 

close  to  the  Liberties,  and  in  one  of  the 
tottering  shanties  Swift  had  been  born. 

There  used  to  be  a  strange,  afflicted  figure 
seen  about,  at  the  clubs  and  elsewhere,  his 
head  twisted  aside  and  brought  down  upon 
his  chest.  In  addition,  he  had  something  of 
a  Satanic  cast  that  suggested  the  famous 
violinist  ;  hence  he  was  nicknamed  "  Paganini 

L ."  He  was  the  son  of  an  archbishop. 

It  was  odd  to  meet  this  rather  ill-omened 
apparition  in  the  street.  He  used  to  hunt, 
and  was  once  thrown  from  his  horse,  when 
a  friend  of  his  found  the  peasantry  gathered 
round  him,  busily  engaged  in  "  sthrivin'  to 
sthraighten"  his  poor  neck,  which  they 
fancied  was  dislocated.  The  victim  was  cry- 
ing out,  "  Born  so,  born  so  !  "  At  the  club 
he  was  constantly  seated  in  the  bow-window 
looking  out  into  the  street,  hence  he  got  the 
lively  nickname  of  "  The  Winder  Pest." 

There  was  an  interesting  association  with 
this  "Paganini"  Lindsay.  His  father's  grand- 
mother—  and  I  can  recollect  Archbishop 
H7 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Lindsay — was  given  away  on  her  marriage 
by  King  Charles  II.  !  This  is  a  long  stretch 
backwards,  but  is  not  so  long  as  that  in  the 
case  of  a  Colonel  Maude  who  was  alive 
about  1860,  and  whose  grandfather  was  at 
the  Battle  of  the  Boyne.  I  have  met  Mr. 
Maude,  the  clever  manager-actor  of  the 
Haymarket,  and  it  was  strange  to  think  he 
was  the  nephew  of  one  so  connected  with 
the  past. 

An  official  in  the  Record  Office,  a  clever 
man  too,  had  a   reputation   for  saying  rather 

biting   things — Sir   T.    G .      It  was   he 

who  said  of  a  literary  friend,  who  had  made 
money  in  the  tallow  trade,  "  He  a  great  writer, 
sir  ?  Why,  he's  the  modern  Suetonius.'"  The 
name  of  this  gentleman's  seat  always  "arrided'' 
me — "  Kilmacud  Manor  "  :  there  was  such  a 
blend  of  dignity  and  of  the  grotesque  in  it. 

Every    one    has    heard   of  the    strangely 

deformed    Mr.    Kavanagh,    a    truly    clever, 

resourceful  creature,    without  arms    or   legs. 

Surely  it  could  only  be  in  this  land  of  sur- 

148 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

prises  that  such  an  afflicted  being  should  be 
chosen  member  of  Parliament  by  a  constitu- 
ency, and  only  in  such  a  land  that  so  suffering 
a  man  would  accept  the  honour.  It  was 
rather  a  shock  for  ladies  in  an  interesting 
condition  to  see  a  human  being  roll  of  a 
sudden  into  the  room  like  a  ball,  or  carried 
in  on  the  shoulders  of  a  servant  and  set 
down  on  a  chair.  More  astounding  and 
perhaps  diabolical  must  it  have  been  to  meet 
on  the  road,  at  the  hunt,  this  armless  and 
legless  rider,  who  was  secured  somehow  to 
his  saddle,  and  whose  bridle  was  hooked 
on  to  his  shoulder.  Yet  he  rode  admirably. 
Even  in  London  people  grew  familiar  with 
this  phenomenon,  and  in  the  House  of 
Commons  when  the  division  was  called  he 
was  privileged  to  remain  with  the  Speaker, 
an  odd  duet.  We  can  only  wonder  how 
any  one  could  care  for  public  life  under 
such  conditions.  More  astounding  still,  he 
was  married  and  had  children. 

There  was  an  old  broken  peer,  often  seen 
149 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

about  Dublin — Lord  M .     His  money 

was   all   gone.      I  recall   meeting    him    one 
day    at    his    attorney's,    who   had    him    in 
charge  and  boarded  him,  and  was  trying  to 
recover  something  for  him  out  of  the  wreck. 
A  lady  of  title  who  had  lent   him    .£5000 
began  to  press  for  its  repayment,  and  now 
his  friends  suggested  that  the  way  to  pay  it 
off  would   be  to  marry.     This  might  seem 
a  hopeless  business,  as  he  was  close  on  ninety 
years   old  :    but   the   matter  was   taken    up 
seriously  by  every  one,  and  various  desirable 
candidates   were   submitted.     The  fact   was, 
they  had  not  enough  to  satisfy  the  claim. 
At  last  a  good-looking  girl  was  found  that 
suited.     The    preparations   were  made,    and 
the  day  fixed.     It  came  to  the  eve   of  the 
solemnity,  and  the  young  lady  was  exhibit- 
ing  to   him   her   new  dresses — in    company 
with  some  of  her  friends,  when  he  fell  down 
and  expired  before  them  ! 

A  friend  was  staying  in  a  house  in   the 
country   where    there   was    a    trusty    Caleb 
150 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

Balderstone  of  a  servant.  The  master,  a 
needy  county  magistrate,  was  entertaining  a 
large  number  of  guests.  "  More  glasses," 
said  the  magistrate,  loftily.  "  Faith,  I  can't, 
sir,"  said  the  man  ;  "  ye  know  we  lint  them 
yesterday,  and  they  haven't  come  back." 
Another  host  in  the  same  plight  kept  calling 
out,  "  Fetch  this,  fetch  that ! "  At  last  Caleb, 
after  various  ingenious  excuses,  said  :  "Shure, 
sir,  everything  ye  have  in  the  wurrld  is  on 
the  table!" 

A  host  with  a  strong  brogue,  which  he 
was  affectedly  striving  to  refine — always  an 
amusing  thing — said  at  table  :  "  Let  me  send 
you  a  little  more  beecon  with  your  vale." 
A  propos,  there  was  a  very  refined  young 
married  lady  who,  hearing  some  one  praise 
fried  bacon,  cried  out :  "  O  dear  !  how  nice ; 
do,  papa,  let  us  have  a  bacon  for  dinner  to- 
morrow!" 

With  Mr.  H ,  an  old  friend  and  one 

of  the  old  school,  I  used  to  dine  often,  when 
he  used  to  gossip  pleasantly  about  the  past. 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

He  had  met  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people, 
had  a  good  memory,  and  used  to  tell  his  little 
anecdotes  pleasantly.  Thus,  when  George  IV. 
came  to  Ireland,  he  went,  of  course,  to  stay  at 
Slane  Castle — the  house  of  his  favourites,  the 
Conynghams — which  was  in  somewhat  of  a 
rack-rent  condition.  "All  the  old  beds  in  the 
county  were  begged  and  borrowed.  Lord 
Manners,  the  Chancellor,  was  so  bitten  by 
fleas  on  the  first  night,  that  he  departed  next 
morning  in  a  rage."  My  friend  went  on  to  tell 
that  it  was  said  the  Marchioness  got  her  son 
made  chamberlain  or  something  of  the  kind 
for  the  coronation,  and  the  family  pretended 
that  everything  used  was  theirs  of  right ;  they 
seized  on  everything,  even  to  the  gold  lace  on 
the  servants'  uniforms. 

That  fine  old  Irish  style  and  title  "  the  So- 
and-so  "  is  found  occasionally,  as  in  the  case 
of  "  The  O'Grady,"  "  The  Knight  of  Glyn," 
and  others.  I  remember  John  Bright,  in  one 
of  his  orations,  repeating  something  that  had 
been  "  told  me  by  my  old  friend  the  Knight 
152 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

of  Kerry,"  when  the  audience — fancying  that 
this  was  some  burlesque  nickname — roared 
with  laughter,  and  poor  Bright  had  to  explain 
that  he  was  quite  serious.  A  Captain  Bull, 
quartered  in  Dublin,  was  asked  to  dinner  by 
"  The  O'Grady,"  and  consulting  a  waggish 
friend  as  to  what  this  title  meant,  was  told 
that  it  was  the  invariable  custom  for  every  one 
in  Ireland  to  use  the  article,  and  that  in  his 
answer  it  was  expected  that  he  should  do  the 
same.  Accordingly  the  captain  sat  down  and 
wrote  that  "  'The  'Bull  had  much  pleasure,"  &c. 
An  Irish  barrister  of  much  ability  and  good 
practice  one  day  rather  surprised  his  friends 
by  announcing  that  he  was  no  longer  "  Mr. 
Macdermott,"  but  "  The  Macdermott,"  or 
Prince  of  Coulavin.  As  a  matter  of  pedi- 
gree, this  claim  is  held  to  be  perfectly  well 
founded.  Our  friend  was  now  always 
addressed  by  the  judges  as  "Macdermott" 
— "  I  would  put  it  to  you,  Macdermott," 
&c.  His  lady  was  "  Madam  Macder- 
mott." I  remember  myself  once  meeting 
'53 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

at   Arcachon  a   personage    known  as    "The 
White  Knight." 

In  Dublin  there  was  always  "  this  side  of 
town  "  and  "  th'other  side  o'  town." 

To  live  "  on  th'other  side  of  town,"  save 
under  certain  circumstances,  was  to  show  that 
you  did  not  belong  to  the  "  smart  set." 
Every  physician  or  barrister  who  wished  to 
"  rise  "  was  ever  struggling  to  get  away  from 
Mountjoy  Square  or  Gardiner's  Place,  and  to 
cross  Carlisle  or  O'Connell  Bridge  into  the 
Promised  Land  of  Fitzwilliam  Place  or 
Merrion  Square. 

The  rage  for  dining  in  Dublin,  that  is,  for 
giving  and  going  to  dinner-parties,  used  to 
be  truly  extraordinary.  The  fashion  was  all 
for  huge  tables  of  twenty  and  thirty  people. 
All  the  official  people — judges, bishops — enter- 
tained on  this  vast  scale.  Half  their  in- 
comes must  have  gone  in  these  hospitalities. 
Now,  I  am  told,  there  is  a  complete  change, 
and  there  is  but  a  very  moderate  display. 
All  was  very  well  done,  and  the  wines 
'54 


^P  of  Dublin  Society 

admirable — as  most  had  fine  cellars — and  the 
city  was  always  celebrated  for  its  claret. 
Nearly  always  you  met  the  same  persons, 
who  passed  on  from  house  to  house  ;  there 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  strict  debtor  and 
creditor  account,  and  the  entertained  enter- 
tained in  their  turn.  The  late  Chief  Justice 
Monahan  was  hospitality  itself,  and  un- 
wearied in  welcoming  his  friends.  His  at- 
tractive daughters,  on  their  side,  kept  up 
the  good  reputation  of  the  house.  They 
were  an  accomplished  and  sprightly  family. 

There  were  a  number  of  recognised  diners- 
out  on  the  establishment,  as  it  were.     Such 

were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G ,  who  might  dine 

out  every  day  of  the  week  on  the  strength 
of  her  marvellous  male  voice.  Mr.  and 

Mrs.  B S had  no  apparent  claim, 

save  that  they  were  good,  solid  folk,  safe 
and  desirable,  lived  in  "  Muryon  "  Square, 
and  supported  the  Protestant  Establishment. 
There  was  an  honourable  or  two  about,  who 
were  always  sure  of  a  meal  and  were  received 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

with  gratitude  after  their  names  were  an- 
nounced. They  gave  a  flavour  to  a  party, 
and  impressed  much. 

Nothing  is  more  common  in  Dublin  society 
than  the  general  tone  of  ridicule  and  persiflage. 
Everything,  whether  serious  or  solemn,  is 
turned  into  a  joke,  or  jokes  are  made  about 
it — and  very  good  jokes  they  are.  The  re- 
sult of  which  is,  that  no  one  is  able  to  form  a 
correct  judgment  or  resolution  about  anything. 
Hence  that  uncertainty  of  opinion,  and  ten- 
dency to  follow  what  is  the  pleasantest  side* 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  place.  Every 
one  tries  to  agree  with  everybody  else,  on  the 
ground,  perhaps,  that  nothing  is  worth  dis- 
puting about,  unless  "  maybe  "  politics.  But 
a  laugh  or  a  joke  sets  everything  straight. 
The  result  of  this  spineless  system,  however,  is  a 
certain  absence  of  principle  and  a  very  marked 
presence  of  insincerity.  There  are  abundant 
assurances,  enthusiastic  promises,  which  are 
not  meant,  and  are  forgotten  as  soon  as  made  ; 
exaggerated  praise  and  admiration — to  be  sue- 
156 


®*  of  Dublin  Society 

ceeded  by  a  cordial  joining  in  the  "  asides  " 
of  others  not  nearly  so  complimentary,  and  so 
on.  Everything,  civil  and  religious,  in  this 
way  is  belittled  and  made  trivial.  Clergy- 
men joke  about  their  callings,  as  though  it 
were  quite  an  easy  or  funny  thing  to  get  to 
heaven. 

There  was  a  pleasing  virtuoso,  Sir  George 
Hodson,  who  used  to  figure  at  these  banquets, 
and  who  knew  much  about  pictures  and  art — 
a  rare  thing  in  those  times.  I  heard  him 
retail  at  a  dinner-party  how,  recently  making 
excavations  under  his  old  house  in  the  country, 
he  had  unexpectedly  broken  into  a  cellar  long 
closed  up,  and  there  found  some  eighty  dozen 
of  the  finest  old  port.  This  he  disposed  of  to 
a  local  merchant  at  three  guineas  a  dozen. 
The  local  merchant  sold  it  in  London  at  a 
guinea  a  bottle,  and  it  was  later  being  offered 
by  the  Star  and  Garter  at  255. 

Among  others  of  the  habitual  diners-out 
were  Lord  Charlemont  and  his  clever  wife, 
who  acted  extremely  well — Lord  James 
*57 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Butler  and  his  lady — Lady  Rachel  Butler, 
sister  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  also  an  amateur 
actress  of  repute  :  Betsy  Baker  was  her 
famous  character.  Sir  Charles  Domville,  of 
Santry,  and  others  Jived  in  the  far  suburbs — 
and  very  charming  suburbs  they  were — with 
fine  old  places,  well  wooded,  antique  houses, 
all  within  a  reasonable  drive. 

The  Charlemonts  were  of  interest  to  me  at 
least — for  I  don't  think  any  one  else  cared 
about  it — from  their  ancestor,  Dr.  Johnson's 
friend ;  though  to  the  general  Dublin  folk  such 
a  recommendation  would  have  seemed  ludi- 
crous. "Is  it  old  Johnson  ye'r  talking  about? 
Oh,  mighty  interestin',  no  doubt ! "  They  lived 
down  at  Marino  on  the  sea  shore  at  Clontarf, 
a  fine  old  house  with  ancient  gardens — in 
which  was  a  classical  temple,  built  by  Cham- 
bers, of  Somerset  House  celebrity.  How 
many  pleasant  junketings  we  have  had  at 
this  place — driving  down  for  a  cheerful  dinner 
party  !  Lady  Charlemont  was  a  really  original 
character — impulsive,  ardent,  "  giving  herself 
158 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

away  "  as  it  is  called — from  her  love  of  frolic 
and  hearty  enjoyment  of  her  own  merriment. 
She  loved  to  surround  herself  with  notable 
people,  such  as  lively  literary  folk.  Her  lord 
was  rather  a  rough  blunt  personage,  giving 
out  "from  the  shoulder"  whatever  he  thought, 
and  having  but  little  sympathy  with  her 
erratic  pleasantries.  She  had  great  accom- 
plishments in  the  way  of  reciting  and  acting. 
The  pair  lived  a  jocund,  expensive  life — 
certainly  beyond  their  means — after  the  then 
fashion  of  Irish  nobility.  They  had  a  good 
old  house  in  the  north,  but  built  a  new 
chateau  on  modern  lines — which  must  have 
been  the  last  straw.  They  were  also  seen 
much  in  London  during  the  season,  taking  a 
house  in  a  fashionable  quarter  and  entertaining 
a  good  deal.  Gradually  the  fine  old  objects  of 
art,  such  as  the  Hogarth  pictures — painted 
specially  for  Dr.  Johnson's  Earl — the  notable 
"  Peg  Woffington  " — with  much  fine  virtu, 
furniture,  &c.,  began  to  melt  away.  I  re- 
member an  eminent  Bond  Street  dealer  being 
'59 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

on  a  visit  at  their  house — a  most  gentlemanly 
personage,  treated  quite  as  an  honoured  guest  ; 
no  doubt  he  was  combining  business  with 
pleasure. 

There  was  at  the  time  a  rather  interesting 
man  who  flitted  about  Dublin  society — a  sort 
of  half  Frenchman — Count  de  Jarnac,  who  had 
married  into  the  Leinster  family,  and  who  later, 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  friends,  blossomed 
out  as  French  Ambassador  to  London.  He 
was  a  pleasant,  volatile  creature,  somewhat 
like  Thackeray's  de  Florae — amusing,  vain, 
elderly,  but  posing  as  quite  a  young  man,  and 
no  doubt  thinking  himself — as  all  Frenchmen 
do — most  attractive  to  the  fair.  He  had, 
under  the  name  of  "Sir  Charles  Rockingham," 
written  some  successful  novels  of  fashion  ; 
but  his  chief  hobby  was  the  writing  of 
drawing-room  plays.  These  he  printed  and 
gave  away.  They  were  usually  produced  at 
his  own  house,  were  often  of  a  sentimental  cast, 
he  himself  taking  the  lover,  and  an  attractive 
young  maiden  being  selected  as  a  heroine.  I 
1 60 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

recall  a  performance  being  given  at  a  house  in 
Dublin — a  ghostly  drama  called  The  Lost 
One  Restored — in  which  the  heroine,  im- 
personated by  Lady  Charlemont,  was  a  sort 
of  animated  picture  which,  under  the  influence 
of  the  gentle  passion,  came  to  life  and  stepped 
down  from  its  frame.  There  was  much 
difficulty  in  procuring  this  article — for  it  had 
to  be  one  of  life  size  ;  but  the  fair  performer, 
or  the  hostess,  exerted  her  influence  with  an 
important  Mason,  who  had  one  of  the  full- 
length  portraits  that  adorned  their  hall  taken 
out  of  the  frame,  and  carted  away  to  the 
house.  The  count  was  at  his  best  as  the 
lover,  arrayed  in  a  tight-fitting  black  velvet 
suit,  with  bows  at  his  knees — a  costume  of  no 
particular  age  or  country,  but  symbolical  of 
a  sore  heart.  The  pair  declaimed  interminably 
in  blank  verse  against  each  other.  The  too 
youthful  ambassador  fell  a  victim  to  his  rash- 
ness; for  walking  home  on  a  chilly  night  from 
some  party,  too  lightly  clad,  he  caught  a  cold, 
which  carried  him  off  in  a  few  days. 

161  L 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

There  was  a  worthy,  quaint  old  gentleman 
named  Bagot — well  known,  and  who  had 
seen  much  of  the  world — who  lived  a  few 
miles  from  the  city  at  a  place  called  "  Castle 
Bagot."  Of  course  it  was  a  simple  square 
brick  house.  He  and  his  wife  had  once  given 
shelter  to  Lady  Lytton,  or  Bulwer-Lytton,  in 
her  marital  troubles — a  hospitality  which  she 
repaid  by  introducing  the  pair  to  the  very  life 
in  one  of  her  novels,  "The  Bubble  Family." 
We  all  recognised  his  favourite  phrases — 
"  Oh,  the  Algerines  !  "  "A  regular  Algerine, 
sir  !  "  and  "  my  Calamity,"  alluding  to  Mrs.  B. 
His  gardens  were  laid  out  after  the  fanciful 
rules  of  the  "topiary  art" — the  flowers  trained 
to  exhibit  the  words  "  Victoria,"  "  Mel- 
bourne," &c.,  in  large  parti-coloured  letters. 
He  was  full  of  stories,  a  vast  number  of  which 
1  heard  from  him  during  the  week  I  spent  at 
"  the  Castle." 

He  told  of  the  solemn  Dr.  M ,  who 

had  been  appointed  to  a  post  in  the  Castle, 

which  he  had  to  share,  however,  with  a  half- 

162 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

mad  Englishman,  who  took  a  dislike  to  the 
doctor,  sometimes  locking  him  up  in  rooms, 
driving  him  into  corners,  and  threatening 
him.  "At  last,"  said  my  friend,  gravely- 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  complain,  and  putting  on  his  best 

clothes,  set  off  to  see  Lord ."     I  liked 

that  "  putting  on  his  best  clothes."  I  forget 
how  it  ended.  I  see  the  worthy  man  per- 
petually flourishing  a  huge  yellow  bandana ; 
most  necessary,  too,  from  the  quantity  of 
snuff  he  used,  and  the  all  but  permanent 
drop  on  his  nose. 

He  would  describe  some  attractive  lady 
friend  as  "  a  divine  human  creature,"  and, 
looking  for  some  paper,  would  say :  "I  have 
left  it  in  Chaos  here,"  or,  "  I  know  it's  in 
Chaos."  Chaos  was  thus  a  useful  generic 
term  for  any  place  of  disorder.  "  It's  upstairs 
in  Mrs.  B 's  chaos."  He  described  meet- 
ing Lady  Hamilton.  He  saw  her  at  a 
party  just  after  Nelson's  death,  surrounded 
by  a  bevy  of  men ;  her  red  cheeks  painted ; 
163 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

she  laughing  boisterously,  and  generally  un- 
attractive. 

His  wife  was  an  amiable  lady  who  had  once 
been  a  beauty,  and  in  consequence  prattled 
on  always  in  a  sort  of  infantine  fashion.  She 
had  her  stories  also.  One  was  not  bad,  of  a 

certain  old  Major  M ,  of  G ,  one  of 

the  good  old  school,  but  somewhat  feather- 
headed.  I  have  dined  with  him  at  his  country 
house  when  he  kept  up  the  good  old  state — 
richly  liveried  servants  standing  behind  each 
guest's  chair.  At  one  time  there  dined  a 

certain  Mr.   R ,  who  was  concerned  in 

Lord  Cardigan's  affair,  well  known  as  the 
Black  Bottle  business.  Now,  it  was  the  major's 
custom  to  have  set  beside  him  a  measure  of 
fine  claret,  to  which  he  invited  his  guests,  by 
crying  periodically,  "  Who'll  have  some  of 
my  Black  Bottle?"  This  would  not  do 
with  such  a  guest,  so  he  was  again  and  again 
cautioned  not  to  use  the  invitation.  But  in 
the  course  of  the  dinner  he  began  as  usual, 
"Who'll  have  some  of  my — ,"  then  checked 
164  ^ 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

himself  abruptly,  warned  by  telegraphy.  "Oh, 
I  know  now,"  he  said,  "  I  forgot  that  I  wasn't 
to  say  anything  about  the  Black  Bottle — but 
I  stopped  in  time."  After  dinner  he  would 
go  carefully  round  the  room,  arranging  the 
high-backed  chairs  in  order,  sometimes  cour- 
teously asking  a  guest  to  move  and  allow  him 
to  put  his  chair  in  line. 

A  figure  on  which  my  eyes  always  rested 
with  interest  was  Sir  Thomas  Staples,  the 
Father  of  the  Irish  Bar  ;  a  spare,  gentlemanly- 
looking  man,  who  had  seen  much  in  his  long 
life.  He  was  the  sole  survivor  of  the  Irish 
House  of  Commons,  and  was  sitting  in  it 
when  it  was  extinguished.  He  did  not  look 
aged,  nor  did  he  feel  aged,  yet  he  was  long 
past  eighty  when  I  knew  him.  He  was 
Crown  Counsel  in  all  the  criminal  prosecutions 
in  the  north,  and  discharged  his  duties,  if  not 
very  brilliantly,  yet  on  the  whole  satisfactorily. 
On  the  circuit,  I  have  often  walked  with  him 
from  town  to  town,  distances  of  ten  or  twelve 
miles.  He  took  little  part  in  society,  but  was 
165 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

an  enthusiastic  musician,  and  devoted  to  his 
'cello,  on  which  he  performed  respectably. 
At  his  pleasant  seat,  Lissane  in  Tyrone,  he 
and  his  excellent  wife  would  get  up  a  sort  of 
musical  festival,  inviting  the  vicars-choral 
from  Armagh,  with  a  fiddle  or  two,  when  all 
day — for  they  were  insatiable — Mozart's  and 
Beethoven's  symphonies  were  gone  through 
with  an  almost  pitiless  severity.  Sir  Thomas 
would  insist  relentlessly  on  every  "  repeat," 
extracting  almost  a  groan  from  the  patient 
pianist  as  she  had  to  turn  back  a  score  of 
pages  and  recommence.  They  were  kind, 
friendly  people.  She  had  been  a  prime  beauty 
in  her  day,  as  her  full-length  portrait  at 
Lissane  attests  ;  a  sprightly  figure,  in  an 
amber- coloured  dress,  dark  hair  and  ringlets, 
and  tripping  out  of  her  canvas  like  one  of 
Romney's  heroines.  Old  people  used  to  talk 
of  the  handsome  Kitty  Hawkins. 

Another  interesting  personage  whom  I  used 
to  meet  in  Dublin  was  the  brother  of  Maria 
Edgeworth,  a  placid  old  gentleman  of  Pick- 
166 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

wickian  aspect.      It  was  a  curious  feeling  to 
talk  with  one  whose  uncle  had  attended  the 
unfortunate  Louis  XVI.  on  the  scaffold.     I 
was  glad  to  hear  from  him  his  glowing  account 
of    the   first   coming-out   of   the   Waverley 
Novels.  As  he  said,  it  was  a  "perfectly  gorgeous 
time  to  look  back  to."     There  was  a  coterie 
at  the  Bar  who  clubbed  together  to  get  the 
novels    from    "  Millikens' "    library    as    they 
came  out,  and  they  were  read  out  aloud  to 
special  parties.    He  remembered  Lady  Charles 
Bury,  the  author  of  the  amusing  "  Diary  of 
the   Times  of  George   IV."   saying    of    Sir 
Walter,  when  he  confessed  to  the  authorship, 
"  There  is  no  more  reason  for  believing  him 
now,  than  for  disbelieving  him  when  he  denied 
the  authorship."    Mr.  Edgeworth  was  once  at 
a  dinner  at  our  house  with  Lady  Staples  and 
her  husband — and  a  most  agreeable  dinner  it 
was — when  he  talked  a  good  deal  about  his 
famous  sister.     "  When  I  was  quite  a  little 
girl,"  said  Lady  Staples,  "  I  came  late  to  a 
party,  and   was    reproved  ;    on   which  Miss 
167 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Edgeworth  came  forward  and  comforted  me : 
*  I  once  came  late  like  you,  and  a  lady  said 
to  me,  "  Don't  be  afraid,  little  girl,  for  you 
come  from  a  country  where  punctuality  is  no 
virtue." ' " 

What  do  we  not  owe  to  that  delightful 
cheery  writer — so  full  of  ebullient  spirits 
and  natural  frolic — the  author  of  "  Harry 
Lorrequer  !  "  Few  works — save,  perhaps, 
"Pickwick" — have  been  so  "enjoyed,"  in 
their  pink  covers,  as  those  of  the  irrepressible 
Charles  Lever.  There  was  no  formality,  and 
perhaps  little  probability  ;  the  hero  was  a 
sort  of  military  Munchausen,  but  who  cared 
for  that  ?  You  were  carried  on  by  the 
irresistible  buoyancy  of  the  thing.  I  recall  a 
delightful  dinner  given  by  his  old  friend, 
Joseph  Le  Fanu,  when  this  pleasant  man  and 
myself  were  the  only  guests.  Odd  to  say,  I 
found  him  a  grave-looking  man,  without  any 
of  the  rollicking  twinkle  in  his  eye  that  one 
might  expect.  As  is  well  known,  he  was  no 
Irishman  at  all,  yet  was  even  "  Hibernior  " 
168 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

than  the  natives  themselves.  He  was  very 
pleasant  at  this  meeting,  and  told  many 
interesting  things,  but  nothing  specially  racy. 
At  the  same  agreeable  house  I  once  met 
Mrs.  Norton,  with  her  truly  classical  head 
and  raven  locks,  then  a  little  silvered,  but 
still  a  fine  woman  as  it  is  called.  Her  con- 
versation had  a  strain  of  quiet  and  satirical 
banter  that  was  delightful.  I  knew  two  of 
the  three  Sheridan  sisters,  and  most  attractive 
women  they  were — Mrs.  Norton  and  Lady 
Dufferin,  mother  of  the  late  Marquis — later 
Lady  GifFord,  one  of  the  sweetest  women  it 
was  possible  to  dream  of.  On  the  same 
night,  the  daughters  of  the  house — sparkling, 
brilliant  girls,  with  a  strong  dash  of  the 
Sheridans  —  gave  a  little  dramatic  piece 
written  by  themselves,  which  amused  us  all 
"  mightily."  I  came  to  know  Mrs.  Norton 
very  well — or  I  should  say  pretty  well — and 
used  often  to  go  and  see  her  at  her  bijou 
house  close  to  Charles  Street,  Mayfair.  She 
had  pleasant,  despotic  ways.  Once  hearing 
169 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

that  I  was  about  to  write  something  about 
her  loved  Sheridans,  she  sent  me  a  haughty 
message,  forbidding  me  to  touch  the  subject. 
I,  of  course,  obeyed  submissively. 

"  Joe  Le  Fanu's  "  house  in  Merrion  Square 
— by  the  way,  his  name  was  always  pro- 
nounced with  the  "  a  "  short,  but  in  London 
it  was  more  correctly  voiced  "Le  Fanu" — 
was  a  perfect  gallery  of  Sheridan  portraits. 
Here  was  "old  Sheridan"  of  the  "Dic- 
tionary," and  Richard  Brinsley,  and  the 
spirituelle-lookmg  Alicia  Le  Fanu,  with 
other  dames  of  the  family,  rather  plain,  as 
well  as  I  recollect ;  with  a  portrait  of  Swift 
which  Mr.  Forster  had  engraved  for  his 
"  Life  "  of  the  great  Dean.  What  a  museum 
of  literary  memories  Dublin  was  then  !  You 
found  close  by  St.  Patrick's  a  dilapidated 
alley  of  houses  —  Hoey's  Court  —  one  of 
which  was  Swift's  birthplace.  Close  by  was 
the  quaint  old  Archbishop  Marsh's  library, 
where  the  Dean  used  to  read,  and  where 
there  are  great  folios  marked  profusely  with 
170 


^P  of  Dublin  Society 

his  notes.  Hoey's  Court  has  long  since 
been  levelled,  and  the  library  altered  out  of 
recognition.  St.  Patrick's  itself  has  been 
restored  by  the  well-known  Guinness,  and  at 
vast  expense.  The  worthy  brewer,  it  is  said, 
disdainfully  rejected  official  architectural  aid, 
relying  on  his  favourite  builder  for  the 
alterations — an  arrangement,  it  need  not  be 
said,  disastrous  enough  as  regards  taste.  The 
sister  cathedral  was  dealt  with  too  architec- 
turally, and  the  accomplished  Street,  being 
given  carte  blanche,  all  but  rebuilt  it.  This 
Benjamin  Lee  Guinness,  of  James'  Gate 
Brewery — it  is  remarkable,  by  the  way,  that 
it  is  the  only  native  drink  mentioned  by 
name  in  the  "  immortal  Pickwick " — was 
thought  to  be  a  sort  of  millionaire.  He  was 
certainly  wealthy,  but  he  could  not  have 
even  dreamed  of  the  dimensions  to  which 
his  business  would  expand.  He  was  a  stout, 
short,  modest  man,  placid,  and  I  always 
thought  resembling  very  much  one  of  the 
Cheeryble  brothers.  His  acts  of  benevo- 
171 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

lence  were  very  much  like  theirs — unobtru- 
sive and  done  by  agencies.  Could  he  have 
for  a  moment  imagined  that  the  business 
would  swell  and  grow  in  so  gigantic  a 
measure,  or  that  his  sons  would  have  two 
peerages  and  a  baronetcy  among  them  ?  ft 
is  said  that  years  ago  the  eldest  of  the  twain 
decided  to  free  himself  from  the  brewery, 
and  left  the  business  with  a  modest  income 
of  £60,000  or  £70,000  a  year.  The  second 
and  shrewder  brother,  who  had  a  genuine 
taste  for  business,  held  on,  and  devoted  all 
his  labours  and  talents  to  working  up  the 
concern.  He  connected  himself  with  a 
banking-house,  and  hence  was  brought  out 
that  famous  and  most  successful  bit  of 
finance,  the  Guinness  Brewery,  Limited.  The 
amazing  profits  of  the  concern  can  hardly  be 
conceived,  and  any  one  who  holds  a  large 
number  of  the  original  shares  may  consider 
himself  lucky  indeed.  This  fortunate  second 
brother,  as  I  have  heard  from  the  late  Lord 
Morris,  has  made  a  capital  of  some  fifteen  or 
172 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

sixteen  millions.  Lord  Iveagh  must  have 
about  half  a  million  a  year.  Once,  in  Carlton 
House  Terrace,  I  was  asking  an  old  apple- 
woman  which  was  Lord  's,  one  of  the 

brothers,  house.  She  did  not  know.  A  sort 
of  corner-man,  who  was  near,  interposed : 
"  Why,  bless  you,"  he  said,  "  it's  Guinness 
he  means.  That's  Guinness's  house."  He  did 

not  care  to  recognise  "Lord ." 

It  is  extraordinary  to  look  on,  at  St.  Pat- 
rick's— as  indeed  I  did  in  company  with  John 
Forster,  his  biographer — the  tomb  of  Jona- 
than Swift,  the  great  Dean,  and  read  the 
terrible,  nay  diabolical,  inscription  :  "  Where 
desperate  rage  shall  no  more  rend  his  heart." 
What  a  view  this  gives  us  of  the  man  !  And 
who  that  really  felt  that  savage  sentiment 
would  care  to  have  it  engraved  upon  his 
tomb  ?  I  once  went  down  to  Celbridge,  where 
I  believe  Vanessa  lived,  and  from  old  people 
there  gathered  up  some  curious  traditions. 
Once  from  curiosity  I  strayed  into  the  lunatic 
asylum  which  Swift  founded,  an  old-world 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

impressive  place  which  was  very  much  as  it 
was  in  his  time.  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  out  again,  and  had  to  produce 
credentials  before  I  could  be  released.  With 
a  certain  sorrow  I  say  it,  but  we  really  have 
no  claim  to  Swift,  or  to  many  of  the  dis- 
tinguished so-called  Irishmen. 

The  name  of  Lord  Brougham  takes  me 
back  over  a  long  stretch  of  years.  I  re- 
member this  indefatigable  veteran  coming  to 
Dublin  in  charge  of  that  hobby  of  his  the 
Social  Science  Congress,  now  extinct,  but 
which  seemed  to  be  a  perpetual  glorification 
of  this  somewhat  vain  veteran.  Their  open- 
ing meeting  was  held  in  the  huge  round 
ball-room  at  the  back  of  the  Mansion  House, 
a  structure  which  was  "  run  up "  in  six 
weeks  for  the  festivities  of  George  IV.'s 
visit.  It  was  curious  to  look  on  this  strange, 
gnarled  face,  and  the  odd  figure,  and  think 
of  the  Queen's  trial  and  other  exciting 
matters  in  which  he  had  been  concerned. 
When  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a  star  and 
'74 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

a  markedly  hooked  nose  came  forward  to 
speak,  and  was  announced  as  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  a  shout  of  welcome  arose,  and 
the  enthusiasm  was  so  strong  that  I  verily 
believe  many  fancied  that  this  may  have 
been  the  great  duke  himself.  The  old  chair- 
man was  exceedingly  despotic  and  intemper- 
ate, and  later  on  gave  poor  Blanchard  Jerrold, 
the  secretary,  a  forcible  "jobation"  for  his 
carelessness  in  omitting  to  write  to  some 
notable  person.  But  every  one  had  to  sub- 
mit to  his  humours,  and  he  did  practically 
what  he  liked.  This  Duke  of  Wellington, 
at  one  time,  took  a  great  fancy  to  the 
Lyceum  Theatre  and  its  gifted  manager,  and 
I  have  often  seen  him  there  ensconced  in  a 
private  box.  He  had,  however,  the  most 
appalling  bronchitis  that  could  he  imagined, 
excelling  even  that  permanent  one  of  our 
late  friend  Palgrave  Simpson.  The  fits 
used  perversely  to  come  on  in  the  midst  of 
some  solemn  discourse,  delivered  by  the  great 
Henry  in  his  most  slow  and  measured  style. 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

The  spasms  seemed  uncontrollable,  and  as 
sonorous  as  uncontrollable.  The  impatient 
gods  would  call  out  rudely,  "  Shut  up  !  " 
"  Turn  him  out !  "  But  it  went  on  worse  and 
worse,  till  even  the  amiable  Henry  seemed  put 
out  by  his  noble  patron  ;  then  the  din  of 
protest  increased,  until  at  last  the  poor  man 
was  led  out  by  his  companion.  Poor  Pal- 
grave  had  more  discretion.  He  had  trained 
his  cough  to  lie  slumbering  ;  but  at  times, 
in  the  middle  of  an  act,  it  would  burst  out 
mutinously,  and  the  poor  sufferer  was  seen 
flying  to  the  door. 

The  dignitaries  of  the  various  religions 
were  of  course  always  prominent  person- 
ages in  Dublin.  Archbishops  Whately  and 
Trench  were  notable  figures  enough ;  so  were 
Archbishop  Murray  and  Cardinal  Cullen. 
Often  to  be  seen  coming  out  of  the  large 
mansion  in  Harcourt  Street,  was  the  Dean  of 
St.  Patrick's,  Pakenham,  brother-in-law  of 
the  great  Duke  of  Wellington.  I  recall  the 
Vicar  of  Dundalk,  who  occasionally  came  to 
176 


ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

Dublin,  and  was  Dr.  Thackeray,  uncle,  I 
think,  of  the  author  of  "  Vanity  Fair,"  who 
describes  a  visit  to  his  relation  at  his  Irish 
town.  Dr.  Thackeray  was  popular  with  all 
classes  in  his  cure,  and  they  subscribed  to 
have  his  portrait  done.  The  engraving 
shows  him  as  a  tall,  burly  man  in  Hessian 
boots. 

It  used  to  be  said  that  there  was  but  one 
High  Churchman  or  Ritualist  in  Ireland, 
though  later  there  was  another  of  a  rather 
intrepid  sort — a  vicar  of  a  certain  church  at 
the  end  of  Mount  Street,  Canon  Smith. 
The  other  was  the  excellent  Maturin,  son,  I 
believe,  of  the  dramatist,  and  vicar  of  a  poor 
charge  out  in  a  picturesque  suburb,  Grange- 
Gorman,  where  he  struggled  manfully,  not 
only  with  bigoted  foes,  but  against — as  a 
poor  cotter  said — an  overpowering  family  of 
some  ten  children.  Some  of  these  have 
made  a  name,  and  are  well  known  as  popu- 
lar and  advanced  clerics.  One  is  a  Catholic 
priest.  Many  of  us  will  remember  that 

177  M 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

highly  smooth  and  polished  divine — Dean 
Tighe — Dean  of  the  Chapel  Royal,  who  lived 
in  and  sniffed  up  the  Castle  atmosphere  for 
many  a  year.  There  was  another  courtly  dean 
— Browne — with  pleasing  daughters  who 
married  well,  one  just  escaping  being  Duchess 
of  Portland,  though  her  son  became  duke. 
Her  husband  was  the  pleasant,  bluff,  honest, 
and  good-natured  Colonel  Bentinck,  later 
General,  universally  popular  ;  I  hear  his  short 
barking  tones  now  ;  he  was  proud  of  his 
handsome  wife.  Dean  Tighe  was,  of  course, 
of  the  Woodstock  Tighes,  the  family  of  the 
once  admired  poetess.  He  looked  a  true 
ecclesiastical  courtier.  He  was  succeeded  by 
Dean  Graves,  later  Bishop  of  Limerick,  a 
truly  amiable  man,  and  highly  popular  with 
all  creeds.  The  handsome  deaness  was  a 
very  clever  woman,  and  the  mother  of  clever 
sons,  one  of  whom  is  editor  of  the  Spectator, 
another  the  author  of  many  lively  songs, 
notably  of  "Father  O'Flynn;"  another  a 
playwright.  Bishop  Graves  was  a  deeply 
178 


<§?  of  Dublin  Society 

read  scholar,  and  a  great  authority  on  hiero- 
glyphics. 

The  college  dons  were  all — in  those  days, 
at  least — of  the  old-fashioned  type,  slow 
moving  and  wrapped  up  in  their  own  import- 
ance, an  extraordinary  contrast  to  the  smart, 
up-to-date  Fellows  of  our  time.  One — 
Doctor  Carson — was  esteemed  to  have  one  of 
the  finest  postage-stamp  collections  in  the 
world.  There  was  old  Provost  Sadleir  and 
worthy  Doctor  Todd,  who  might  be  taken  for  a 
little  rotund  priest,  with  his  well  "  turned  " 
little  legs.  Ingram,  an  amiable  man,  was  also 
of  mark,  but  was  invariably  mentioned  as 
associated,  I  fancy  to  his  annoyance,  with  the 
notorious  song  of  "  Who  fears  to  speak  of 

ninety-eight."       Dr.    L was    a    rough 

personage,  of  rather  uncouth  manners.  In 
his  early  days  he  was  said,  perhaps  untruth- 
fully, to  be  somewhat  economical  of  the 
truth.  Once  at  the  Fellows'  table  he  was 
telling  some  stories  of  his  schoolmaster.  "  He 
birched  me,  sir,  insisting  that  I  had  told  a 
'79 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

falsehood.  It  was  most  unjust,  for  'twas 
really  the  truth."  "Anyhow,"  said  a  sarcastic 
friend,  "  the  birching  cured  you  of  that" 

As  a  boy  I  recall  the  dignified  and  saintly 
Dr.  Murray,  the  Catholic  Archbishop,  an  ideal 
prelate,  respected  by  all.  He  was,  perhaps, 
too  pliant  and  easy-going  ;  his  face  was  truly 
mild  and  benevolent.  His  dean,  Dr.  Meyler, 
a  priest  of  the  old  school — the  very  old 
school — was  installed  at  Westland  Row. 

"  Paul  Cullen,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called 
by  even  the  more  orthodox  of  his  flock,  was 
a  much  more  remarkable  and  liberal-minded 
prelate  than  he  has  been  supposed  to  be. 
There  was  a  pleasing  naive  simplicity  about 
him — something  after  the  pattern  of  Gold- 
smith, whom  in  face  he  strongly  resembled. 
I  always  liked  him  for  his  pleasant  confession 
made  in  open  court :  "  I  was  at  a  Quaker 
school  when  a  boy,  and  I  have  always  got  on 
with  the  Friends,  who  have  been  very  kind  to 
me." 

The  ordinary  Catholics  were  altogether 
1 80 


<Sjfcf  of  Dublin  Society 

looked  down  upon  by  the  High  Protestant 
set.  A  few  of  them  were  just  recognised  as 
worthy  persons — in  spite  of  their  faults — who 
deserved  to  be  encouraged,  but  this  was  all 
in  the  way  of  patronage.  Otherwise  the 
barriers  were  stoutly  guarded.  The  Catholics 
mostly  lived  near  to  each  other  "on  the  other 
side  of  town,"  saving  the  Catholic  doctor,  who 
was  glad  to  get  into  Merrion  Square  if  he  could. 
The  local  fanaticism  of  the  religious 
factions  passed  belief.  There  were  "  missions 
to  the  Roman  Catholics,"  as  though  they 
were  heathens — while  these  latter  asserted 
that  every  convert  was  purchased  with  gold 
subscribed  in  England.  A  perfect  "  red 
rag  "  was  the  absurdly  named  "  Bird's  Nest  " 
for  the  rescuing  of  "  Romish  "  infants,  and 
bringing  them  up  in  the  little  Protestant  nest. 
They  were  said  to  be  regularly  bought  from 
their  parents.  There  were  periodical  battles 
in  the  law  courts  over  these  infants.  The 
Bird's  Nest  figured  largely  in  the  pastorals  of 
the  bishops. 

181 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

It  was  astonishing  how  we  all  got  through 
the  agitated  times  of  the  Land  League  and 
"the  Invincibles,"  when  all  was  terror  and 
confusion,  and  conspirators  going  about  armed 
to  the  teeth.  I  recall  one  day  when  I  was 
walking  down  the  street  that  led  to  Westland 
Row,  and  was  puzzled  at  meeting  ill-looking 
fellows  lounging  in  pairs  at  intervals  all 
along  the  street.  The  whole  way  was  dotted 
with  these  pickets.  Going  into  a  shop  to 
buy  a  paper  I  heard  enigmatical  talk  going 
on,  such  as  "  It's  been  dark  enough  all  these 
days,"  "Ay,  maybe,  but  the  sun's  to  come 
out  presently."  We  later  learned  that  these 
people  were  waiting  for  Mr.  Forster,who  was 
expected  at  the  railway.  The  plan  was  to 
attack  his  carriage  in  the  open  street  and 
murder  him.  He  had  been  warned,  and  did 
not  come.  As  this  was  not  long  before  the 
Phoenix  Park  outrage,  they  were,  no  doubt, 
the  same  conspirators. 

About  the  same  time  I  went  out  to  the 
Secretary's  lodge  in  the  Park  to  see  some  one 
182 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

who  was  there,  and  found  the  avenues, 
bushes,  &c.,  all  beset  by  police.  There  was 
a  visible  agitation  when  I  rang  the  bell,  and  a 
shrunken,  ghastly  face  looked  suspiciously. 
This  was  the  hapless  Trevelyan,  whose  life 
was  said  to  have  been  a  burden  to  him,  as 
he  must  have  been  haunted  by  a  dread  of 
assassination.  His  hair  palpably  became 
whiter.  The  Dublin  police,  since  those  dis- 
astrous times,  to  the  present  hour,  I  believe, 
always  carry  cutlasses  during  the  night  hours. 
The  unfortunate  Tom  Burke  was  a  well- 
known  character,  with  much  of  that  assertive 
and  superior  English  tone  which  was  common 
enough  in  Dublin.  He  talked  fluently 
enough,  and  had  a  flourishing  way  with  him. 
Poor  soul !  That  terrible  fate  was  about  the 
last  thing  he  could  have  dreamed  of,  and 
seemed  about  the  least  appropriate,  for  he 
was  a  harmless  creature  enough. 

There  is  one  almost  romantic  story  which 
is  worth   recalling.     There  was  living  in  the 
183 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

city  a  clergyman  who  held  a  small  office  in 
one  of  the  cathedrals — a  quiet,  amiable  man, 
with  a  family  of  four  children.  He  was 
unobtrusive  and  unaspiring,  and  had  one 
delight,  which  was  his  joy  and  comfort  in  his 
struggles — his  violin  and  the  practice  of  music, 
to  which  he  was  devoted.  He  was  quite 
content  and  happy  even  in  his  modest  con- 
dition, and  was  much  liked  by  every  one  for 
his  simple,  old-world  manners.  He  often 
came  to  our  house,  bringing  with  him  his 
darling  riddle,  when  he  played  Haydn  or 
Mozart,  his  playing  being  like  his  nature, 
quiet  and  unassuming. 

After  many  years,  suddenly  came  news 
that  our  modest  parson  was  now  possessor  of 
a  great  fortune,  having  succeeded  to  an  old 
lord  in  the  north  whose  name  even  he  did 
not  bear.  It  was  a  noble  estate,  said  to  be 
worth  about  ^30,000  a  year.  Here  was  a 
change  indeed  for  the  modest  family.  But 
there  was  no  change  in  them.  They  were 
very  anxious  to  make  their  friends  share  in 
184 


ft?  of  Dublin  Society 

their  good  fortune,  which,  however,  really 
seemed  almost  an  embarrassment  to  these 
good  people. 

Presently,  however,  came  a  sad  stroke. 
His  excellent  wife  died.  By-and-by  we 
heard  that  our  clergyman  had  married  again, 
to  one  of  his  own  connection,  who  appeared  to 
have  his  same  retiring  ways,  but  presently 
was  shown  to  have  a  more  aspiring  nature, 
and  one  more  suited  to  her  situation.  Am- 
bition was  in  the  air.  There  were  now 
house-parties  and  gay  doings.  An  imposing 
addition  was  made,  and  half  a  new  castle 
built.  It  was  indeed  a  noble  place,  upon  a 
historic  lake.  I  often  found  myself  there 
enjoying  their  pleasant  hospitality.  Other 
great  mansions  fringed  the  lake,  and  their 
owners  would  come  across  in  a  boat.  By- 
and-by  there  was  the  mansion  in  town  and 
an  assault  upon  London  society,  which  was 
successfully  carried  out ;  for  the  chatelaine 
had  gifts  in  this  way,  and  knew  how  to  gratify 
her  very  legitimate  ambition.  There  were 
18; 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

balls  and  concerts  and  dinner-parties,  but 
through  all  this  old  Irish  friends  were  never 
forgotten.  Soon  followed  the  peerage,  and 
our  old  friend  now  became  "  the  Rev.  Lord 

,"  who  was  often  found  in  churches  and 

religious  meetings  in  company  with  the  Lord 
Bishop  and  other  dignitaries.  This,  I  believe, 
was  the  only  part  of  the  business  that  gave 
him  real  pleasure.  There  was  something 
almost  pathetic  in  seeing  this  simple  being 
thus  engulfed  in  the  whirlpool  of  gaieties, 
struggling  ineffectually,  but  enduring  all 
most  patiently.  I  am  sure  he  would  have 
preferred  his  old  haunts  and  his  old  fiddle. 
Music,  however,  was  still  his  comfort.  He 
had  built  a  great  concert  hall,  attached  to  his 
castle,  which  he  inaugurated  with  a  sort  of 
festival  for  which  a  cantata  was  specially 
written.  Nor  had  he  lost  his  old  simplicity  ; 
often  after  dinner  he  and  his  sons  would 
strike  up  some  old  "  catch,"  such  as  "  Call 
George  again,"  or  "  Glorious  Apollo,"  or 
even  our  old  friend  the  "Non  nobis,  Domine." 
1 86 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

This  rather  surprised  some  of  the  London 
swells.  In  due  time  this  worthy  man  passed 
away,  much  to  the  regret  of  us  all. 

It  is  often  now  an  illustration  of  the  diffi- 
culties of  success,  in  London  society,  to  find, 
at  some  party  given  by  Irish  people,  that  you 
might  just  as  well  be  at  a  Dublin  party.  For, 
somehow,  the  same  people  seem  to  have  been 
transferred  thither.  It  is  amusing  to  hear 
the  native  voices,  and  the  betraying  question : 
"  When  did  you  come  over  ?  I  crossed  the 
day  before  yesterday."  "  I  am  goin'  back 
to-morrow."  No  wonder  some  of  our 
countrymen  at  home  are  sarcastic.  "  So  this 
is  what  you  call  London  life,  and  gettin'  into 
English  society;  and  so  you  have  to  fall 
back  upon  poor  old  Dublin  after  all."  This  is 
a  favourite  and  most  effective  sneering  tone, 
good  humoured  apparently,  but  malin.  And 
he  will  go  on  repeating  :  "  Fancy,  now, 
coming  all  the  way  to  London  only  to  meet 
the  Irish  !  " 

Indeed,  I  wish  I  had  the  skill  to  analyse 
187 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

this  motley  Irish  society — the  plainly  acid 
mixture  of  "  chaff,"  sneers,  loud  laughter, 
secret  chuckling,  ironical  praises,  and,  above 
all,  "  good  stories  "  about  so-and-so. 

Nowhere  is  there  such  genuine  and  yet  so 
comically  odd  a  veneration  for  persons  sup- 
posed to  have  money.  Such  are  addressed  in 
quite  a  reverential  way,  and  spoken  of  in 
awe-stricken  fashion.  It  was  often  amusing 
to  note  the  absurd  exaggeration  of  the 
measure  and  value  of  worldly  emoluments  in 
the  case  of  smaller  folk.  I  have  heard  talk 
something  like  this  :  "  What's  become  of 
Jack  So-and-so  ?  "  "  Didn't  you  hear  ?  Oh, 
my  boy,  he's  fallen  on  his  legs  as  usual ;  gone 
and  married  an  heiress."  "You  don't  tell 
tell  me  so!"  "Yes,  with  £5000,  not  a 
penny  less.  There's  for  you ! "  There 
were  various  superannuated  spinsters  who 
gave  an  occasional  dinner  or  party,  or 
kept  a  carriage,  and  were  therefore  con- 
sidered "  'normously  rich  "  ;  even  ordinary 
merchants,  making  four  or  five  thousand  a 
188 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

year,  were  spoken  of  as  "  Why,  he's  a  perfect 
milyniair,  sir  ! " 

Our  good  city  —  without  offence  be  it 
spoken — is  a  begging  city.  Indeed,  every 
native  of  the  country  begs  more  or  less  — 
patriots,  barristers,  younger  sons.  Going  to 
chapel  of  a  Sunday  morning,  I  recall  the  lines 
of  old  crones  seated  on  the  steps  with  hands 
outstretched  and  crooning  something — all  for- 
bidden by  police,  law,  &c.,but  who  minds  that  ? 
Occasionally,  in  some  retired  street  in  London, 
you  hear  a  pattering  behind  you,  then  a  low 
growling  voice,  to  the  effect  that  the  speaker 
or  growler  is  "  starvin'  wid  de  hunger,"  or 
"  hasn't  bruk  his  fast  since  last  night."  This 
appeal  is  made  surreptitiously  and  in  a  guilty 
way.  Of  course,  you  never  hear  the  English 
or  Scotch  accent  behind  you.  Are  they  too 
proud  to  beg  ? 

In    Dublin    every  one   looks   for  a  place, 

and    of    course    begs    for    it — a    "place    in 

the     courts"  —  commissionerships,     assistant 

barristers,  and  so  on.      When  a  post  of  the 

189 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

latter  kind  becomes  vacant,  the  crush  and 
clamour  is  frightful ;  every  lever  is  set  to 
work.  I  believe  every  barrister  in  practice, 
almost  without  exception,  sends  in  his  claim. 
The  most  toothsome  and  most  coveted 
offices  are  the  snug  commissionerships  of 
£1000  to  ,£1200  a  year,  such  as  that  of  the 
Board  of  Works,  which  the  facetious  Will 
Le  Fanu  enjoyed.  Most  functionaries  have 
three  or  four  sons,  whom  it  is  contrived 
somehow  to  get  "  into  the  courts,"  or  some 
public  place.  The  butlers  or  footmen  even 
are  ambitious,  and  look  to  "  an  official 

place  "  ("  Ah,  mistress ,  wouldn't  ye  just 

get  me  a  place  undher  governmint  ? "),  and 
have  even  before  their  eyes  the  hope  of 
becoming  "  crier  in  the  court,"  or  porter, 
and  intrigue  for  it  like  their  betters.  A 
clever  managing  lady  that  I  wot  of  had  a 
butler  who  had  this  ambition,  and  she  got 
him  a  nomination  for  "somethin'  under 
governmint"  (much  preferred  to  something 
"agin  the  governmint").  There  was  this 
190 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

drawback — that  he  had  to  pass  an  examina- 
tion. He  was  a  stolid,  rather  stupid  being 
with  a  family.  His  mistress,  who  was  a 
woman  of  resource,  went  to  call  on  the 
examiner,  "  talked  him  over,"  as  it  is  called, 
interested  him  in  the  case,  and  somehow — 
I  know  not  how — the  fellow,  though  an 
ignoramus,  was  actually  "passed"  somehow, 
and  pushed  into  the  place  !  This  is  a  fact ; 
and  a  very  clever  woman  she  was.  I  re- 
member well  how  she  actually  "  talked  "  the 
solicitor  of  the  great  Law  Life  Assurance 
out  of  his  claim  for  costs — a  prodigious 
feat. 

The  extraordinary  shape  this  eleemosynary 
system  takes  is  astonishing.  An  official  dies, 
leaving,  of  course,  his  family  in  a  poor  way. 
A  subscription  is  instantly  got  up,  say,  by 

the  excellent   Sir  F B and   a  few 

more.  A  couple  of  thousand  is  collected 
and  given  to  the  widow.  Another  gets 
embarrassed — another  subscription.  A  more 
extraordinary  instance  even — a  popular  and 
191 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

humorous  divine,  whom  everybody  liked, 
was,  it  was  given  out  in  vulgar  phrase, 
"  hard  up."  True,  this  had  come  from 
entertaining,  dinners,  &c.  ;  but  he  was  such 
a  good  fellow.  Some  three  or  four  thousand 
pounds  were  collected  and  presented  to  him 
to  indemnify  him.  All  this  really  comes 
from  weakness  of  fibre ;  no  one  has  the 
courage  to  refuse  when  he  is  told  that  "  so- 
and-so"  and  others  have  put  down  their 
names.  Everybody  is  smiling  and  laughing 
and  making  a  joke  of  the  business  all  the 
time. 

It  was  always  "  a  grand  thing  "  to  go  to 
London.  Much  was  always  made  of  it  by 
advertisement  some  days  before,  and  every 
one  tried  to  get  what  profit  he  could  out  of  it. 
"  I  am  goin'  over  to  London  to-night "  was 
something  to  say.  A  propos,  one  of  the  most 
amusing  spectacles  I  ever  saw  in  the  course  of 
my  railway  travelling  was  on  one  evening 
when  I  was  "  going  across,"  and  an  immense 
crowd,  for  some  purpose  or  another,  were 
192 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

gathered  at  the  booking  office.  The  scene 
was  indescribable — the  clerk  was  hopelessly 
and  helplessly  drunk.  A  score  of  people 
were  pressing  him — "  Where's  my  money  ? 
Where's  my  ticket  ?  You  rascal,  you  have 
given  me  no  change."  The  unhappy  man, 
quite  bemused,  must  have  given  wrong  tickets, 
wrong  money  ;  but  still,  with  that  wonderful 
luck  that  attends  the  drunkard,  he  got  through 
somehow,  and  I  doubt  if  anybody  cared  to 
make  complaint. 

But,  above  all,  it  is  incumbent  on  you  to  let 
friends,  and  those  whom  it  might  concern,  know 
by  documentary  proof  that  you  have  been  to 
London.  You  had  to  write  your  name  on  a 
sheet  of  paper,  left  for  the  purpose  on  the 
saloon  table,  so  that  next  morning  it  could  be 
read  in  the  newspapers  that  "  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Murphy  and  the  Misses  Murphy  '  crossed 
over  ' — the  correct  phrase — by  the  mail  boat 
from  Kingstown."  Mark  ye  that  !  To  have 
"  crossed  over  by  the  North  Wall "  is  some- 
thing less  dignified.  Of  course,  nobody  cares 
193  N 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

to  know  all  this,  but  it  is  read  all  the  same 
—  for  a  purpose — with  much  speculation  : 
"  Now,  what  on  earth  takes  th'  O'Dowds  to 
London,  and  where  the  divil  did  he  get  the 
money  ? " 

The  journey,  whether  by  night  or  day,  has 
always  a  certain  gaiety  and  variety.  In  the 
morning  there  is  gay  Kingstown  Harbour  : 
the  bay  seems  bright  and  inviting,  and  the 
boats  are  very  fine.  Coming  in  to  Holyhead 
is  a  stirring  scene,  with  the  long  trains  drawn 
up  and  waiting — the  road  up  to  London 
has  always  a  sort  of  novelty  even  for  those 
most  familiar  with  it,  owing  to  the  change 
from  the  local  surroundingsof  one's  nativeland, 
which  is  always  striking  enough.  It  almost 
seems  like  entering  into  another  kingdom. 
At  night  there  is  the  pleasant  voyage  across,  and 
the  midnight  scene  at  Holyhead,  with  the 
long  train  of  sleeping-cars  waiting ;  and  wel- 
come always  that  sudden  waking  up  at  early 
dawn  with  the  pleasant  surprise  of  rolling  into 
Willesden,  and  the  inspiring  cry  of  "Tickets ! " 
194 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

London !  It  seems  like  the  man  in  the 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  who  had  dipped  his  head 
into  the  tub  of  water  and  drew  it  out  in- 
stantly ;  but  who  in  the  interval  had  loved 
and  married  and  had  children  grown-up,  and 
was  being  ordered  for  execution. 

Once  the  viaduct  on  the  pretty  Welsh 
line  had  been  swept  away  by  the  sea  and  the 
traffic  completely  interrupted  ;  when  we  had 
quite  a  day  of  adventure.  When  we  came  to 
the  scene  of  the  disaster,  we  found  a  vast 
assemblage  of  carriages,  waggonettes,  etc., 
every  vehicle  in  the  district  being  pressed 
into  the  service.  All  the  baggage  was  thrown 
upon  the  grass  in  confusion,  to  wait  the  carts, 
and  we  were  told  we  were  not  likely  to  see 
our  property  again  for  some  days.  It  was  a 
lovely  sunshiny  time,  and  we  had  an  en- 
chanting drive  over  the  Welsh  hills,  to  reach 
the  other  side  of  the  broken  bridge.  It 
seemed  like  a  picnic  ;  every  one  was  in  such 
spirits.  But  there  was  a  delay  of  some  hours, 
with  the  result  that  it  was  midnight  when  we 
'95 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

came  rolling  into  the  vast  station  at  Birming- 
ham. Then  came  a  headlong  flight  to  town, 
which  was  reached  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

What  a  contrast  between  the  old  style  in 
which  the  journey  used  to  be  made  when  I 
was  a  boy,  and  the  present  system  !  We  then 
went  to  Liverpool  by  fine  and  powerful 
steamers,  such  as  was  the  good  old  Iron  Duke, 
which  saw  many  vicissitudes,  descending  at 
last  to  carrying  cattle,  etc.,  after  it  had  lost 
its  nobler  service.  This  departed  about  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening — we  went  down  to 
Kingstown  by  train,  and  there  the  mail  bags 
— how  well  I  remember  it ! — were  tossed  into 
a  little  hand-cart,  which  they  barely  filled — 
not  more  than  thirty,  I  should  say — and 
were  trundled  down  the  pier  to  where  a 
"  flare "  was  blazing  at  the  gangway  of  the 
Iron  Duke.  The  passage  was  about  ten 
hours  ;  on  landing  you  were  driven  to  the 
Adelphi  or  some  other  hotel — breakfasted, 
and  got  up  to  London  by  three  or  four  o'clock. 
196 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

If  you  caught  the  six  o'clock  express  you 
might  arrive  at  noon.  There  were  also  little 
midges  of  vessels  that  ran  over  to  Holyhead, 
starting  at  eleven  at  night  to  catch  the  morn- 
ing coach  to  Chester.  Now  there  are  large 
and  powerful  liners,  making  the  passage  -in 
three  hours,  and  going  over  twice  in  the  day. 
At  the  evening  service  you  see  the  through 
trains  from  the  north,  the  west,  and  the  south 
all  arriving  seriatim  on  the  packet  pier,  each 
laden  with  passengers  and  baggage.  I  suppose 
there  are  half  a  dozen  vans  of  the  latter  as 
compared  with  the  little  old  hand-cart  which 
I  recall.  There  are  besides  the  huge  baskets 
of  the  parcel  post  which  are  sent  anyhow  and 
everyhow,  by  any  train  and  packet.  In 
later  times  there  was  a  mid-day  boat,  which 
reached  Holyhead  about  six  or  seven  o'clock. 
The  rest  of  the  night  was  spent  on  the 
railway,  and  London  was  gained  about  five 
o'clock  A.M. — all  most  inconvenient  and  un- 
comfortable. 

The  Kingstown  railway  was  one  of  the  first 
197 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

opened  in  the  kingdom,  and  one  of  my  earliest 
child's  recollections  is  the  being  taken  down 
upon  the  line,  then  just  inaugurated  and 
thought  a  wonder.  The  primitive  form  of 
guard's  brake  then  used  dwells  in  my  memory. 
It  was  a  sort  of  "  hand  lever  "  which  worked 
through  a  chain  on  the  wheel.  I  see  the  poor 
guard  struggling  with  this  instrument,  often 
ineffectually.  Later  came  that  curious  line 
to  Dalkey — the  atmospheric  railway — worked 
by  exhausted  air,  through  an  iron  tube.  I  re- 
call, too,  the  primitive  engines — the  cylinders 
outside,  and  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  boiler 
close  to  the  chimney.  They  jumped  up  and 
down  with  an  alternate  motion.  I  am 
always  persuaded — it  may  be  a  pleasing 
delusion — that  I  once  made  a  voyage  in  one 
of  the  first  of  the  primitive  steamers.  This  is 
an  interesting  speculation,  but  it  is  so  far 
away  that  I  cannot  be  quite  certain  about  it. 
It  was  somewhere  about  the  year  1838,  and 
our  family,  seeing  that  a  vessel  was  to  sail 
from  Kingstown  to  Havre,  where  we  had 
198 


<§?  of  Dublin  Society 

relations,  determined  to  seize  the  opportunity 
for  making  a  visit  to  that  cheerful  French 
city.  The  name  of  the  steamer  was,  as  I 
believe,  the  William  Fawcett,  and  if  this  be 
so,  she  was  one  of  the  first  steamers  that 
belonged  to  the  P.  and  O.  company  and 
figures  in  its  collection  of  pictures.  We 
had  nearly  a  week's  voyage  in  this  rickety 
tub  to  Havre.  Not  long  ago  I  was  invited 
by  Sir  Thomas  Sutherland,  the  chairman  of 
the  great  P.  and  O.  Company,  to  take  a  trial 
trip  of  a  great  new  steamer,  with  a  large 
company  on  board,  on  a  week's  voyage — and  a 
most  jocund  expedition  it  was.  What  an 
amazing  change  from  the  William  Fawcett — 
I  suppose  not  more  that  400  tons — to  the 
great  P.  &  O.  steamer  of  some  fifteen  or 
sixteen  thousand. 

How  delightful  and  even  romantic  were 
these  journeys  in  those  far-off  days !  Now 
the  London  and  North-western,  which  we 
Irish  look  upon  as  our  own  altogether, 
and  have  a  sort  of  affection  for,  have  a 
199 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

regular  fleet  of  steamers  between  the  familiar 
"North  Wall"  and  Holyhead,  where  the 
Company  have  taken  possession  of  the  whole 
town  and  excavated  an  enormous  harbour.  I 
used  almost  to  venerate  the  L.  &  N.-W.  R.  Co. 
Dublin  owes  an  enormous  deal  to  its  spirited 
exertions. 

Dublin  has  somewhat  the  air  of  a  foreign 
city — Sackville  Street  notably  ;  and  its  public 
buildings  are  held  to  have  much  architectural 
merit.  The  old  Parliament  Houses — a  highly 
original  construction — the  Custom  House, 
Exchange,  have  been  admired, but  these  are  the 
work  of  an  Englishman.  There  are  a  number 
of  statues,  not  worse  in  their  art  than  those  of 
London.  In  front  of  Trinity  College  is  a 
very  suggestive  group — Burke  and  Goldsmith 
by  Foley,  Grattan,  and  Moore.  In  Sackville 
Street  is  an  enormous  testimonial  to  O'Connell 
which  has  not  room  to  display  itself,  and  also 
a  monk  in  his  robe,  of  decidedly  weak  ex- 
ecution. Close  to  the  bridge  is  a  rather  spirited 
image  of  Smith  O'Brien — his  arms  folded 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

patriotically.  In  the  Royal  Exchange  is  a 
noble  statue  of  Grattan  by  Chantry,  anent 
which  the  sculptor  used  to  relate  a  rather 
quaint  incident.  He  was  waited  on  by  a 
committee,  who  came  over  to  report  upon  his 
work.  "Now,  see  here,  Mr. Chanthrey,"  said  a 
member  of  the  deputation,  "  there's  just  this 
wan  objection.  Where's  the  Constitution  ?  " 
"  What  Constitution,  sir  ?  "  "  Why,  sor,  the 
R-r-ock  of  the  Constitution,  to  be  sure. 
Isn't  he  to  be  standin'  on  it  ? "  The  be- 
wildered sculptor  tried  to  show  that  it  was 
beyond  the  limits  of  his  art  to  convey  an 
idea  of  "  the  Constitution,"  though  he  might 
furnish  a  rock  ;  but  the  deputation  were 
not  satisfied,  and  withdrew  with  but  a  poor 
opinion  of  his  powers. 

The  names  of  the  Dublin  streets  have  a 
sort  of  expressive  or  dramatic  effect  :  Dame 
Street,  Great  Britain  Street,  Bachelors'  Walk, 
Pickwick  Lane  (even),  D'Olier  Street,  Great 
Brunswick  Street,  Mary  Street,  and  Henry 
Street.  It  is,  however,  gall  and  wormwood  to 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Nationalists  that  all  the  leading  streets  should 
bear  the  names  of  distinguished  Englishmen  : 
Essex  Bridge,  and  Capel  Street  leading  to  it, 
Grafton  Street,  Rutland  Square,  Sackville 
Street,  Westmoreland  Street,  and  so  on. 
When  the  new  Carlisle  Bridge  was  finished, 
a  battle  long  raged  between  the  factions  as  to 
what  name  it  was  to  bear.  The  patriots 
desired  "  O'Connell  Bridge,"  though  he  was 
not  then  in  much  favour.  This  was  resisted, 
and  at  last  an  odd  sort  of  compromise  was 
agreed  to  ;  to  wit,  that  it  was  practically  to 
bear  both  names.  This  is  contrived  by  an 
ambiguously  worded  inscription  on  the  bridge. 
During  the  discussion  a  local  newspaper  inci- 
dentally mentioned  that  the  bridge  divided 
the  north  side  of  the  city  from  the  south  ! 
The  same  dispute  raged  as  to  Sackville  Street 
— "  widest  street  in  Europe,  sir  " — the  name 
of  which  must  be  changed  to  O'Connell  Street. 
All  the  traders  and  business  folk  objected. 
The  same  thing  went  on,  and  does  go  on,  in 
Paris.  I  believe,  at  the  present  moment, 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

the  old  and  the  new  name  are  both  in  equal 
vogue,  i.e.,  you  are  sure  to  be  driven  to  the 
right  place  under  either  denomination.  A 
regularly  recurring  battle  is  waged  as  to 
"  Nelson's  Pillar,"  as  it  is  quite  correctly 
styled  by  the  natives  —  a  lofty  column 
which  the  patriots  have  again  and  again 
striven  to  have  removed.  Fortunately,  the 
Government  have  some  control  in  the  matter. 
There  is  really  a  genuine  eagerness  to  have 
the  hero — hateful  because  he  brought  so 
much  glory  to  England — carted  away.  At 
the  same  time,  one  wonders  how  he  came  to 
Sackville  Street. 

Many  years  ago  there  was  a  characteristic 
display  of  party  faction  in  connection  with  a 
statue,  which  had  a  deplorable  result  for  the 
interests  of  art — to  wit,  a  monument  to 
commemorate  that  fine  old  soldier,  Lord 
Gough.  A  large  sum  of  money  had  been 
collected,  and  the  commission  had  been  given 
to  the  excellent  Irish  sculptor  Foley.  The 
result  was  a  very  imposing  and  spirited 
203 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

equestrian  statue — the  old  warrior  being  pre- 
sented on  a  rearing  steed  bare-headed  and 
turning  to  Jook  back  as  if  to  encourage  his 
followers.  The  effect  was  really  fine  and 
"  dashing."  Odd  to  say,  the  horse  was  already 
doing  duty  out  in  India  and  carrying  Lord 
Hardinge — a  replica  of  the  animal  being 
fashioned  for  Lord  Gough.  This,  however, 
did  not  much  matter.  But,  unluckily, 
the  Gough  family  were  popularly  held  to 
belong  to  "  the  English  Garrison "  and  to 
be  enemies  of  ould  Ireland,  though  they  were 
really  patriotic  enough,  and  had  brought  much 
honour  to  their  conntry.  Accordingly  the 
City  Fathers,  who  had  the  allotting  of  a  site, 
though  they  did  not  venture  to  refuse  one, 
ingeniously  contrived  that  there  should  be 
only  one  spot  available,  in  a  sort  of  lane  or 
cul-de-sac^  where  the  whole  effect  of  the  monu- 
ment would  have  been  lost.  This,  of  course, 
was  a  mere  pretext — but  nothing  could  make 
them  change  their  purpose.  The  indignant 
committee  thought  at  first  of  setting  the  statue 
204 


dSf  of  Dublin  Society 

up  in  London,  where  it  would  have  been  heartily 
welcomed  as  an  ornament,  but  at  last  decided 
to  place  it  in  the  Phoenix  Park — a  good  mile 
or  so  away  from  the  city,  and  where  no  one 
can  see  it,  unless  he  take  a  long  walk  or  drive 
out  for  the  purpose. 

The  name  of  this  Gough  family  suggests 
that  extraordinary  affair  of  the  wild  baronet, 
Sir  John  Garden,  and  Miss  Arbuthnot — who 
was  sister  of  the  then  Lady  Gough.  This 
extraordinary  being  persecuted  her  for  a  long 
time  with  his  unwelcome  attentions,  at  all 
times  and  all  places,  until  life  became  a  burden 
to  her,  and  the  law  interfered.  Then  came  a 
daring  attempt  at  abduction — which,  I  believe, 
failed.  It  was  a  regular  mediaeval  wild  Irish 
romance. 

There  used  to  be  a  mad  B ,  in  good 

circumstances,  whose  friends  allowed  him  to  go 
at  large — to  the  public  annoyance.  He  attended 
every  kind  of  performance — including  the 
courts,  which  he  disturbed  by  his  addresses  to 
judges,  etc.  I  saw  him  once  drive  up  to 
205 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Fitzwilliam  Square  in  his  mail  phaeton, 
where  he  was  refused  admittance  to  his  great 
indignation — police  had  to  be  called.  What 

became  of  B I  know  not. 

And  oh  !  for  the  Dublin  cabs,  such  ram- 
shackle tattered  boxes  as  they  used  to  be,  at 
least.  It  was  Foote,  I  think,  who  said  that 
he  never  knew  what  the  English  beggars  did 
with  their  cast-off  clothes  till  he  saw  the  Irish 
ones ;  he  would  certainly  have  made  the 
same  discovery  as  to  the  worn-out  London 
cabs.  I  well  recall  the  time  when  the  first 
two  or  three  were  followed  as  curios.  For 
then  the  "  covered  cars "  were  in  vogue. 
These  grotesque  things  were  almost  incon- 
ceivable, literally  a  square  black  box  on  two 
wheels.  Many  a  time  we  went  to  parties 
in  these  black  boxes,  the  ladies  in  full  ball 
dresses.  As  the  door  was  at  the  back,  the 
driver,  to  deliver  his  charge,  would  turn  his 
horse  at  right  angles  to  the  pavement — as  is 
done  with  the  coal  carts — and  the  fare,  or  fairs, 
were  discharged  like  flour  sacks.  Nothing 
206 


<Hf  of  Dublin  Society 

but  praise,  however,  can  be  given  to  the  out- 
side car — a  delightful  form  of  conveyance, 
healthful  and  enjoyable.  As  to  private 
carriages,  you  could  almost  count  them,  and 
could  point  out  with  certainty  Mrs.  So- 
and-so's. 

There  is  no  place  where  you  will  be  so 
certain  to  find  something  oddly  Gilbertian  as 
in  Dublin,  and  this  may  be  noted  and  accepted 
as  one  of  the  proper  incidents  of  its  life. 
Thus,  there  is  at  the  end  of  Sackville  Street 
a  very  imposing  institution,  known  and  spoken 
of  tout  bonnement  as  "the  Lyin'-in  Hospital." 
These  words  were  always  spoken  out  with 
antique  simplicity.  A  fair  one  might  be 
seeking  some  place  close  to  "  Great  Britain 
Street,"  when  our  driver  would  reply,  "Shure 
I  know  it  well,  miss,  just  by  the  Lyin'-in 
Hospital."  Close  to  this  meritorious  insti- 
tution are  the  Rotunda  and  Rotunda  Gardens, 
always  in  occupation  for  balls,  pony  races, 
dioramas,  bazaars.  I  am  almost  certain  I 
have  seen  fireworks  and  an  "  eruption  of 
207 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Mount  Vesuvius  "  in  these  gardens,  on  which 
the  windows  of  our  Lying-in  HospitaF  look. 
There  is  something  bizarre  in  all  this  :  the 
poor  woman  in  a  critical  way,  then  an  eruption 
from  the  crater  of  the  burning  mountain, 
then  the  band  striking  up,  the  mob  applaud- 
ing; while  the  poor  soul  is  adding  another 
item  to  the  population.  The  comicality  is  in 
the  notion  of  a  healing-place  drawing  its  sup- 
port from  what  must  be  actively  perilous  to  its 
inmates.  This  Rotunda,  known  to  all  wan- 
dering exhibitors,  is  really  a  very  beautiful,  if 
old-fashioned,  set  of  rooms.  The  "  Round 
Room,"  with  its  rococo  stucco  work,  is  a 
truly  elegant  apartment,  as  is  the  "  Pillar 
Room."  How  many  a  jocund  dance  we  have 
enjoyed  there  ! 

The  Dublin  car  and  cab  fares  are,  or  were, 
ridiculously  low.  It  is  certainly  easy  to  make 
complaint  of  the  tattered  state  of  the  vehicles ; 
but  the  driver  can  hardly  make  both  ends 
meet,  or  the  sides  of  the  rents  in  his  coat 
meet,  on  sixpence  for  a  "  set  down !"  Think 
208 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

of  that,  London  grumblers  and  summoners 
of  cabmen!  Some  "fares,"  utterly  without 
bowels,  will  take  the  unlucky  man  across 
from  one  end  of  the  city  to  the  other  for  this 
wretched  fee.  Most  folk  are  more  liberal, 
and  give  the  sixpence  for  a  short  distance  only 
— a  couple  of  streets  or  so. 

The  experienced  car-engager  will  always, 
before  mounting,  cast  a  wary  eye  at  that 
important  part,  the  step,  to  which  he  must 
trust  his  whole  weight.  A  friend  noted  that 
the  step  seemed  loose ;  the  carman  dismissed 
the  objection — "  Ah,  shure,  it's  too  sthrong  it 
is — what  are  you  afraid  of  ? "  and  he  shook 
it:  when  it  suddenly  came  off  in  his  hand. 
In  reply  to  the  angry  "  fare,"  he  said  : 
"  Well !  shure,  didn't  I  save  you  from  a 
broken  leg  anyhow  ?  "  But  endless  are  the 
stories  of  this  cheerful  and  good-humoured 
race  of  beings — not  a  day  but  some  quip 
of  this  kind  was  being  retailed.  There  is 
always  something  almost  pathetic  in  the  sight 
of  a  lowly  funeral — a  train  of  cars — three 
209  o 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

mourners  a  side — six  in  all — several  of  the 
six  carrying  babies — and  all  trailing  along 
with  a  sort  of  grotesque  solemnity. 

At  one  time  there  suddenly  arrived  in 
Dublin  an  extraordinary  company  of  London 
dealers,  who  came  to  carry  off  all  that  was 
valuable.  It  was  a  regular  'Bande  noire.  The 
original  Bande  noire  appeared  in  France  after 
1830,  bought  up  old  chateaux  for  the  purpose 
of  dismantling  them,  and  sold  the  materials 
piece-meal.  Here,  for  a  chariot  they  would  give 
ten  pounds — for  an  old  carriage  twenty.  These 
were  immediately  pulled  to  pieces  and  dis- 
sected. The  wheels  were  sent  away  and  used 
for  cabs.  Another  part  of  the  system  was 
the  despoiling  of  old  houses,  mansions,  &c. 
The  impecunious  owners  were  not  able  to 
resist  the  temptation  of  ready  cash  offered  for 
chimney-pieces,  pictures,  and  furniture.  It  was 
astonishing  the  quantity  of  spoil  these  people 
carried  off.  The  business  was  regularly 
organised. 

By  the  way,  I  remember  as  a  boy,  numbers 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

of  our  friends  who  kept  their  chariots — a 
rather  stately  form  of  equipage — which  drove 
by,  the  coachman  sitting  on  his  hammer-cloth, 
footman  behind  with  his  sloped  cane.  And 
what  a  noisy  rat-tat  he  would  give,  notifying 
to  all  concerned  that  here  was  carriage  com- 
pany !  Then  there  was  the  letting  down  the 
steps  with  a  clatter  and  bang,  and  the  fair 
tenant  helped  out.  On  going  away,  how 
often  used  I  to  admire  the  nimble  servitor 
running  after,  as  the  carriage  moved  on,  and 
airily  stepping  up  behind.  Sedan  chairs  ?  Ay ! 
How  well  I  remember  a  stout  lady  of  title 
coming  to  our  house  in  one !  She  was  borne 
into  the  hall  by  two  strong  chairmen,  who 
slipped  out  their  poles,  rearing  them  on  high 
like  masts,  one  opening  the  "  front  door," 
the  other  lifting  the  top.  She  protested  she 
heard  one  say  to  his  fellow,  "  Ah,  Pat,  I  can't 
sthand  up — my  back  is  bruck  wid  her  entirely." 
It  was  when  returning  home  after  a  foreign 
tour  that  the  contrast  struck  one.  Coming 
to  London  from  gay,  brilliant  Paris,  where 

211 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

every  street  is  a  scene  in  a  play  ;  it  was  a 
shock  to  see  the  commonplace,  prosaic  London 
— dingy  without  glitter  or  colour — the  first 
thing  noted  being  the  porters  in  their  shabby, 
dirty  clothes — so  different  from  the  glit- 
tering town.  But  what  was  it  to  the 
change  from  London  to  Dublin  ?  Nothing 
could  give  an  idea  of  the  contrast — dirt  and 
decay  everwhere,  railway  porters  in  rags, 
houses  lying  unrepaired  for  years,  hall  doors 
and  windows  awry.  It  was  a  common  thing  to 
see  grass  growing  on  hall  door  steps.  For 
these  steps  were  short  blocks  of  granite  put 
together,  which  by-and-by  sank  and  be- 
came uneven.  In  Dublin  the  notion  of  the 
cook  or  housemaid  washing  the  steps  would 
produce  a  rebellion.  Such  a  thing  was  not 
dreamed  of.  The  curious  thing  is,  we  were 
all  utterly  unconscious  of  this  appearance  of 
dilapidation.  It  is  only,  as  I  have  said,  on 
returning  from  London  that  it  struck  us. 
Convenient  "  shifts "  are  often  employed. 
In  one  house  I  remember  a  visitor  was 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

thrown  on  the  floor — having  sat  down  on  a 
chair  or  sofa,  whose  fourth  leg,  being  broken 
and  gone,  was  supplied  by  a  pile  of  books  ! 
Another  went  down,  exactly  like  the  people  in 
the  diverting  piece  Our  Flat.,  to  the  bottom 
of  a  sort  of  box  made  to  simulate  an  otto- 
man. 

Most  people  have  heard  of  the  Fifteen 
Acres — a  stretch  of  ground  in  the  Phoenix 
Park,  which,  as  might  be  expected,  contains 
many  times  more  than  that  amount,  warrant- 
ing the  attorney  in  adding — "be  the  same  more 
or  less."  It  was  the  regular  duelling-ground. 
I  suppose  hundreds  of  encounters  must  have 
"  come  off"  there  ;  and  what  splendid  reviews 
of  troops  used  we  to  witness  there  !  There 
was  not  a  gala  or  birthday  that  was  not 
celebrated  by  this  popular  form  of  diversion. 
And  how  it  was  enjoyed  !  The  whole  town 
crowded  out  in  carriages  or  cars  to  witness  the 
sham  battle,  review,  or  whatever  it  was  called. 
No  one  now  sees  a  review  in  London  or  else- 
where. And  yet  it  was  a  cheap  and 'simple 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

way  of  entertaining  the  masses.  Boz  has 
described  in  his  account  of  the  sham  battle  in 
Pickwick  exactly  all  that  we  used  to  see. 

The  hotels  used  to  be  a  very  weak  place  in 
the  Dublin  economy.  Who  will  forget  the 
ramshackle  Shelburne  in  Stephen's  Green 
— a  vast  number  of  old  ruinous  houses,  stuck 
together  somehow  !  Thackeray  has  sketched 
the  window  held  open  by  a  poker.  Then 
there  was  the  good  old  and  quiet  Morrison's, 
described  in  one  of  Lever's  tales,  lately  closed 
and  offered  for  sale.  Gresham's  too,  in  Sack- 
ville  Street.  Now  the  Shelburne  has  become 
a  very  fine  place,  with  foreign  waiters,  table- 
d'hote  breakfast,  programmes  and  music,  etc. 
— things  undreamed  of  some  years  ago.  After 
a  recent  visit  I  can  declare  that  I  never 
was  in  a  better  hotel.  It  was  at  the  Shelburne 
that  Boz  and  his  henchman  Dolby  put  up. 
In  the  front  room  with  the  bow  window,  I 
dined  with  him,  and  heard  him  give  the  place 
great  praise. 

Oftentimes  I  think  of  the  Dolphin  Tavern ; 
214 


@s?  of  Dublin  Society 

I  know  net  why,  but  it  touches  a  chord.  The 
Dolphin  was  an  old-fashioned  tavern  out  of 
Capel  Street,  celebrated  for  its  fine  old 
"  October  ale,"  which,  as  an  old  uncle  of 
mine  used  to  say,  was  equal  to  "  meat,  drink, 
and  clothes."  It  was  really  noble  stuff. 
Flanigan  of  The  Dolphin  used  to  tell  his 
patrons  with  some  pride  how  once  the  great 
Bass  firm  had  sent  a  quantity  of  ale  to  Dublin 
which  had  all  "  spoiled  "  and  had  to  be  re- 
placed. In  their  embarrassment  they  appealed 
to  the  faithful  Flanigan,  whose  cellars  were 
stored  with  their  barrels,  and  who  generously 
came  to  their  rescue  and  surrendered  all  his 
stock.  Flanigan's  was  the  regular  lunching- 
place  of  the  Bar.  It  was  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  walk  from  the  Four  Courts.  I 
have  had  a  good  experience  of  lunching-bars, 
but  I  have  never  tasted  anything  really  better 
than  the  things  Flanigan  set  before  you.  He 
had  a  speciality  of  lobster  sandwiches,  ad- 
mirably dressed  and  flavoured,  and  kept 
simmering  hot  on  a  gas  stove.  The  only 
215 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

place  comparable  to  Flanigan's  was  Mrs. 
Linden's  in  Belfast.  In  London  we  have  no 
idea  of  such  a  lunching-place  as  was  hers.  It 
was  perfectly  astounding.  You  entered  a 
cavernous  sort  of  tenement  and  saw  stretching 
away  to  right  and  left  two  counters  absolutely 
laden  with  every  known  delicacy  ;  sandwiches 
of  every  conceivable  kind ;  cold  and  hot 
things  by  the  dozen.  You  walked  on  and  on 
and  on.  Her  reputation  particularly  rested 
on  her  wonderful  currant  tarts.  Nothing 
could  be  better.  She  even  exported  them  in 
quantities.  Every  one  knew  Mrs.  Linden, 
and  ordered  her  things— a  plain  body  of  a 
woman,  seen  always  behind  her  counter  and 
looking  after  her  business.  I  always  cherished 
this  Linden  tradition,  for  she  was  of  the  Bar, 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Long  Robe  (ridiculous 
formula)  being  her  chief  patrons.  For  me 
she  was  associated  with  many  notable  families 
in  the,  North,  whom  her  name  brought  up 
before  me  in  a  sort  of  vision. 

After  a  long  absence — I  suppose  of  nearly 
216 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

twenty  years — I  found  myself  one  day  in  dear 
old  Belfast.  I  instantly  thought  of  Mrs. 
Linden  and  her  famous  cakes  and  sandwiches. 
I  looked  for  the  familiar  place,  but  somehow 
I  could  not  "  locate  it,"  as  the  Americans 
have  it.  I  asked  a  policeman  ;  "  Linden — 
Linden  !  Don't  know  it ;  never  heard  it." 
"Good  gracious,"  I  said  vehemently,  "the 
great  confectioner  and  caterer — surely  ? " 
"  Never  heard  of  her,"  repeated  the  fellow  ; 
"  she  ain't  here,  anyhow."  I  must  confess  to 
feeling  a  pang  as  I  heard  this  news.  It 
seemed  to  destroy  a  vast  deal.  I  had  clung 
to  Linden  and  her  tarts  ;  but  to  find  her  thus 
wiped  out,  almost  forgotten,  not  known 
even,  a  woman  whom  I  had  known  as  a 
personage.  It  was  really  going  back  beyond 
their  times. 

As  a  mere  child  I  well  recall  the  great 
storm  of  1837  and  the  general  alarm  of  the 
terrible  night.  No  one  nowadays  can  have 
an  idea  of  its  horrors.  Every  one  was  up  till 
dawn,  struggling  to  keep  the  windows  or, 
217 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

indeed,  the  front  of  the  house  from  being 
blown  in.  The  houses  rocked  and  chimneys 
were  tumbling  in  all  directions.  Mattresses 
were  used,  and  chests  of  drawers,  furniture  of 
all  kinds  piled  up.  In  our  house  a  carriage- 
pole  screwed  into  the  floor  by  aid  of  a  gimlet 
did  good  service. 

Many  years  later,  in  the  open  day  came  a 
famous  hail-storm  which  smashed  almost 
every  bit  of  glass  in  the  city.  One  small 
quarter,  I  think,  escaped.  It  was  curious  to 
see  how  completely  and  thoroughly  the 
havoc  was  wrought — every  pane  in  every 
window  being  broken.  A  "  canny  "  friend, 
so  soon  as  the  mischief  was  done,  instantly 
took  train  for  Kingstown,  six  miles  ofT,  and 
returned  incontinently  with  a  couple  of 
glaziers.  His  house  was  set  right;  but  for 
days  and  weeks  perhaps,  owing  to  the  dearth 
of  glaziers  and  of  glass  itself,  most  of  the 
natives  had  to  be  content  with  white  paper 
"  panes." 

The  easy  carelessness  or  nonchalance  of  the 
218 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

community  is  illustrated  by  what  occurred  at 
some  festival  or  street  rejoicing  when  a  pro- 
cession was  to  pass  by  Trinity  College,  in 
front  of  which  are  placed  two  of  Foley's 
finest  efforts — the  bronze  statues  of  Goldsmith 
and  Burke,  both  alumni  of  the  University. 
The  students  mustered  in  force  within  the 
railings,  climbing  up  on  every  coign  of  vant- 
age to  see  the  fun  ;  the  two  statues  were  not 
overlooked — and  it  would  appear  that  some 
youths  must  have  sat  upon  Goldsmith's 
head  !  For  it  was  discovered,  after  the 
show  was  over,  that  the  skull  of  the  poet 
had  been  crushed  in  by  the  pressure.  It 
was  a  delicate  and  difficult  matter  to  repair, 
and  took  many  weeks.  It  was  ingeniously 
contrived  by  inserting  screws  in  the  head,  and 
these,  working  in  a  fixed  bar,  gradually  drew 
upwards  the  sunken  portion  till  it  attained 
the  proper  contour.  He  was,  in  fact,  trepanned. 
But  only  conceive  of  such  a  casualty  not  being 
foreseen  ! 

Again,  there  was  a  disastrous  fire  in  which 
219 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

several  unhappy  creatures  were  burnt,  all 
owing  to  the  fact  that  at  the  time  such  a  thing 
as  a  fire-escape  did  not  exist  in  the  city  ! 
There  was  much  violent  indignation,  agitation, 
and  denunciation,  with  the  result  that  a  stock 
of  fire-escapes  was  speedily  provided.  After 
some  time  another  great  fire  broke  out — a 
few  unhappy  creatures  were  seen  at  the 
windows,  but  no  fire-escape  arrived,  and  they 
were  burned  to  death.  It  turned  out  that 
the  fire-escape  sent  for  was  chained  up  and 
padlocked,  and  could  not  be  stirred !  The 
keeper  was  away,  and  the  keys  could  not  be 
found.  It  was  then  ordered  that  all  fire- 
escapes  should  be  left  free.  I  am  not  sure 
but  that  there  was  a  third  case  later,  where 
the  escape  had  been  so  little  looked  after  that 
the  ropes  had  become  rotten  and  broke. 

All  the  little  watering-places,  from  Kings- 
town onwards  to  Bray  and  also  beyond  Bray, 
are  exceedingly  pretty,  and  have  a  charm  of 
their  own.  But  in  most  cases  little  or  nothing 
is  done  to  add  to  what  Nature  has  furnished. 

Z20 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

There  is  a  place  near  Dalkey — called  Sorrento 
— which  is  perfectly  Mediterranean,  and  can  all 
but  match  Monte  Carlo.  At  Bray  and  other 
places  no  one  has  ever  thought  of  making  a 
raised  promenade  or  digue.  The  houses  and 
terraces  are  mean  and  shabby.  At  Llandudno 
we  can  see  how  magnificently  and  how  profit- 
ably such  a  place  can  be  fashioned.  All 
round  the  Irish  coast  it  is  the  same.  In 
Belgium,  where  the  coast  is  tame  and  mono- 
tonous, a  new  watering-place  is  created  about 
every  ten  years  or  so — -just  touching  the 
older  one.  Thus,  near  Ostend,  Blankenberghe 
was  established — beyond  it  came  Heyst, 
Knocke,  and  others.  On  the  other  side  were 
Mariakerke,  Neuport,  etc.  It  was  amazing 
the  rapidity  with  which  they  grew  up. 
There  were  at  first  half  a  dozen  houses  with 
an  hotel — then  a  terrace — then  a  digue — a 
Kursaal  and  a  grand  hotel.  In  a  few  years  it 
was  a  crowded,  flourishing  place.  Kingstown 
has  in  nothing  changed  during  the  past  fifty 
years.  It  is  difficult  to  know  what  is  the 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

reason  of  this,  for  building  and  accommoda- 
tion "  pays  "  here  just  as  well  as  it  does  else- 
where. 


The  judges,  from  their  high  position  and 
good  salaries,  were  important  personages  in 
the  community.  There  could  be  no  glamour 
or  make-believe  as  to  their  emoluments. 
There  were  some  odd  characters  among 
them ;  but  their  chief  "  note "  as  a  class 
was  that  of  holding  on  obstinately  to  their 
offices  until  the  "  soul's  dark  tenement "  all 
but  fell  to  pieces.  It  was  astonishing  the 
uniform  tenacity  that  was  displayed  by  these 
veterans.  The  venerable  old  Lefroy,  long 
judge  and  Chief  Justice,  was  actually  hearing 
cases  and  giving  judgment  when  he  was 
ninety!  He  took  a  pride  in  not  using 
glasses,  and  I  must  say  he  had  a  most  digni- 
fied style  and  manner.  No  one  could  rebuke 
better.  But  I  must  confess  my  chief  interest 
in  him  was  his  having  attracted  Jane  Austen 
when  he  was  a  young  fellow.  The  only 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

fault  that  the  gentle  Jane  could  find  with 
her  admirer  was  that  he  wore  too  light  a 
coat!  The  old  judge  in  his  decay  used  to 
speak  tenderly  of  his  gifted  partner  in  the 
dance.  The  Lefroys  were  a  Huguenot 
family,  and  it  is  remarkable  that  nearly  every 
one  of  the  name  attained  to  distinction  of 
some  kind. 

A  ninety-year-old  judge  is  a  surprise.  But 
what  will  be  said  to  a  blind  judge — literally 
stone  blind — who  had  to  be  led  on  to  the 
bench  :  Penefather,  whom  nothing  could 
dislodge — neither  newspapers,  nor  the  cries 
of  suitors,  nor  those  of  counsel — for  he  could 
not  take  a  note.  The  blind  judge,  resisting 
the  pressure  put  upon  him,  used  to  say  to 
his  friends  :  "So  long  as  the  public  will 
stand  by  Baron  Penefather,  Baron  Penefather 
will  stand  by  the  public."  The  utter  un- 
consciousness that  the  public  were  not 
"  standing  by  him,"  and  were  only  eager  to 
be  rid  of  him,  is  amusing. 

Then  we  had  our  deaf  judge — Perrin — 
223 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

who  spoke  in  a  low  growl ;  discontented 
with  most  things,  and  mistaking,  like  Judge 
Stareleigh,  all  that  was  said.  Much  amuse- 
ment was  caused  by  a  misprint  in  the 
Freeman,  I  think — "His  lordship  grunted  the 
order,"  for  "granted."  Perrin  was  a  tender- 
hearted man,  always  on  the  side  of  the  weak 
and  the  poor.  I  myself  heard  him  say  on 
circuit  to  a  poor  woman  who  said  she 
had  no  counsel,  and  was  in  despair  :  "  Never 
you  mind  that.  I'll  be  your  counsel  myself ; 
and  let  me  tell  you,"  he  added,  "  you  might 
have  a  worse  one."  Judge  Perrin  also 
belonged  to  a  Huguenot  family.  "  Perrin's 
French  Grammar  "  was  still  in  use.  Judge 
Torrens  was  another  Huguenot.  There  had 
been  Saurin,  a  great  advocate  and  descendant 
of  the  Preacher  ;  a  popular  preacher  named 
Fleury  ;  Vignoles,  a  celebrated  engineer ;  while 
in  trade  and  commerce  there  were  Le  Nauze, 
the  Tabuteaus  (pronounced  "  Tabby  Toes  "), 
Rambauts,  Chaigneaus,  Lefanus,  and  many 
more.  Chancellor  Brady  was  also  connected 
224 


<Hf  of  Dublin  Society 

with  these  Huguenot  families,  his  Christian 
name  being  Maziere,  or  Mazeer,  as  it  was 
always  pronounced.  He  told  me  that  they 
were  descended  directly  from  the  Brady  of 
the  "Tate  and  Brady"  partnership — an  inter- 
esting association.  This  suggests  a  story 
connected  with  the  agreeable  family  of  Sir 
Edward  Borough,  always  in  the  forefront 
of  the  Dublin  entertainments.  Armit  and 
Borough  were  the  well-kown  firm  of  army 
agents.  The  Regent  was  said  to  have  talked 
with  one  of  the  family.  "  Armit — Armit," 
he  said ;  "what,  a  son  of  Armit  and  Borough?" 
"  No,  your  highness,  of  Armit  only." 

All  these  aged  incumbents  felt  that  they 
were  impregnably  secured  in  their  position, 
and  that  there  was  no  power  to  dislodge 
them.  There  was  one  way  however  :  that 
was  to  make  it  worth  their  while  to  retire  ; 
and  this  I  believe  the  old  Chief  Justice  was 
willing  to  do  if  his  son  were  put  on  the 
bench.  But  this  was  paying  too  high  a  price, 
and  besides,  the  law  officers  had  their  claims. 
225  p 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Then  there  was  Chief  Baron  Pigot,  whose 
rage  for  taking  notes  was  a  sort  of  mania. 
He  must  note  everything  down,  but  was  a 
very  slow  writer  ;  hence  the  evidence  of  a 
witness  was  a  most  extraordinary  process.  A 
few  words  were  uttered,  after  which  came  a 
long  pause,  during  which  the  judge  was 
carefully  writing.  After  a  reasonable  period 
the  witness  would  begin  again — when  he  was 
violently  interrupted — "  Stop  !  stop,  sir  ! 
do  you  not  see  I  am  taking  down  your 
evidence  ?  How  can  I  do  so  if  you  talk  ? 
Keep  your  eye  on  the  top  of  my  pen,  and 
when  it  stops,  you  may  go  on."  He  was  a 
truly  upright  and  conscientious  man,  but  a 
sore  trial  to  counsel  and  suitors. 

Once  the  Chief  Baron  was  trying  a  sensa- 
tional case  with  more  than  his  usual  pains- 
taking prolixity.  Day  after  day  was  trailing 
by,  with  no  sign  of  the  end — the  unhappy  jury 
worn  out.  A  counsel  was  expatiating  :  "  This 
gentleman  had  all  the  insolence  of  office,  and 
who,  as  Hamlet  says,  can  bear  that?  "  A  jury- 
226 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

man  said  quietly,  "Did  he  say  anything  about 
the  Law's  delays  ?"  The  whole  court  roared — 
the  judge  himself  was  convulsed  ;  but  most  of 
all  the  galleries.  It  really  showed  an  extra- 
ordinary familiarity  with  the  Bard  that  such 
an  allusion  should  have  been  <£  taken  up." 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  famous  dog  case, 
where  the  ownership  was  disputed  and  the  dog 
himself  brought  into  court.  As  the  case 
grew  entangled,  the  judge  thought  it  necessary 
to  have  the  animal  beside  him  on  the  bench, 
when  he  opened  the  dog's  mouth  and  care- 
fully looked  down  his  throat.  Not  much  light 
coming  from  this  process,  his  lordship  ordered 
the  court  to  be  cleared  of  every  one  save  the 
counsel  in  the  case  and  the  claimants,  and 
a  grave,  solemn  test  was  applied.  Each 
candidate  was  to  call  to  the  animal  !  This 
was  tried,  but  the  test  failed. 

And  Judge  Ball ! — not  all  the  stories 
gathered  in  Lord  Cockburn's  account  of 
the  Scotch  Bar  could  match  his  eccen- 
tricities. He  was  an  unfailing  source  of 
227 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

amusement,    which    he    seemed    to    provide 
willingly  enough,  as,    by  a  curious  delusion, 
he  fancied  the  fan  was    at    the   expense   of 
others    and  not    of  himself.      His    favourite 
fashion,     particularly     on    circuit,    when    he 
indulged   in   all    sorts   of    gambols,    was   to 
affect  to  misunderstand  the  witness,  and  to 
assume   that  he  had  said   something   extra- 
ordinary.    As  for  instance  at  Belfast,  when  a 
northerner    in    his  dialect    deposed    that    he 
had  been  told  something  by  a  man  who  was 
"  one   o'    the   wetnusses."      "  What  ?  "    said 
the  judge,  in  affected   astonishment.     "  Let 
me  understand  you  !     One  of  the  what  did 
you  say  ? "     "  One  of  the  wetnusses,  my  lud." 
"  Good  heavens  !    do  you    mean  to  tell    me 
that    down  here   men   act  as    wet-nurses  ? " 
Here  counsel  would  interpose — "  He  means 
witnesses,    my   lud."      "  Oh,    I    see."     This 
sort  of  thing  went  on  constantly.      Another 
"  wet-nurse,"  speaking  of  a  machine,  spoke 
of  "  her  gudgeons  being  quite  hot."     "  Good 
heavens !  Her  gudgeons — you  were  speaking  of 
228 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

a  machine  just  now — and  what  are  gudgeons?" 
I  have  heard  him  tell  how  once  at  Parma  he 
had  dined  with  Marie  Louise,  Napoleon's 
second  wife,  and  afterwards  went  to  her  box 
at  the  theatre  to  see  a  masquerade.  She  was 
very  curious  as  to  the  masks,  making  guesses 
as  to  who  the  people  were."  That  is  So-and- 
so,  I  am  sure."  There  was  little  ceremony — 
he  had  no  court  dress  with  him,  but  the 
Chamberlain  said  that  did  not  matter.  He 
used  also  to  relate  a  curious  freak  perpetrated 
by  him  and  Sir  H.  Barrow,  at  the  time  of 
the  late  Queen's  accession.  They  found  the 
Privy  Council  assembling  in  the  small  hours, 
and  entered  with  the  rest,  though  they  did 
not  belong  to  that  body,  and  took  their  seats 
unquestioned.  He  described  the  young  girl 
in  mourning  coming  in  and  passing  to  the 
top  of  the  table.  When  it  came  to  signing, 
Barrow  scrawled  some  illegible  hieroglyphics, 
and  Ball  wrote  "  Nic.  2fo//."  It  was  said  that 
the  name  so  appeared  in  the  newspapers 
next  day. 

229 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Baron  Hughes  was  an  amiable  man,  though 
not  reputed  a  very  brilliant  judge.  He  was 
the  father-in-law  of  the  late  Lord  Morris. 
He  wrote  a  work  called  "  Hughes's  Chancery 
Practice,"  which  was  poorly  thought  of  in 
the  profession — in  fact,  was  good-naturedly  said 
to  have  been  one  of  the  worst  law  books  ever 
written.  A  facetious  barrister  used  to  relate 
that  he  once  strayed  into  an  auction  room 
just  as  he  heard  the  auctioneer  saying  :  "  The 
next  lot,  gentlemen,  is  a  miscellany.  It  con- 
sists of  a  bootjack,  a  toothpick  case,  and — 
'  Hughes's  Chancery  Practice.'  " 

Judge  Keogh — pronounced  "  Kho  "  in  one 
syllable,  not  "  Keehoe,"  as  he  was  invariably 
called  in  England — was  a  remarkable  per- 
sonage ;  a  political  adventurer,  some  con- 
sidered him.  But  as  to  his  cleverness  and 
brilliancy  there  could  be  no  question.  I  see 
his  round,  red,  and  rather  monumental  face 
now.  He  was  rare  good  company,  and  told 
his  many  stories  admirably.  What  a  career 
his  was,  with  that  of  his  friend  Sadleir,  whom 
230 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

"  Boz  "  introduced  as  Merdle  into  "  Little 
Dorrit "  !  As  regards  Sadleir,  I  find  in  an  old 
diary  written  at  the  time  a  curious  anticipation  : 
"  His  fate  is  like  the  ending  of  a  Dickens 
story,  such  as  that  of  Ralph  Nickleby:  one 
can  supply,  as  Dickens  did,  all  the  dreadful 
feelings  growing  on  him  gradually,  the  shadows 
darkening,  his  mind  clouded,  &c."  I  was 
present  on  the  morning  that  Keogh  first  took 
his  seat  on  the  bench.  He  was  greeted  with 
cheers  in  the  hall  and  also  when  he  took  his 
seat  in  the  court.  Some  one  asked  a  barrister 
next  me  what  he  was  thinking  of.  "  I  am 
thinking,"  he  answered,  "  what  can  have 
suspended  the  Providence  of  the  Almighty 
on  this  occasion."  Another,  pointing  to  a 
respectable  old  gentleman  who  had  seated 
himself  in  the  witness-box  and  was  staring  at 
the  bench,  suggested  that  "  he  must  be  one 
of  Keogh's  principal  creditors."  The  ap- 
pointment was  indeed  thought  a  serious 
scandal. 

A  short   time  after  Keogh  had  taken  his 
231 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

seat,  I  heard  a  counsel  state  some  legal  pro- 
position which  he  declared  "  not  even  the 
youngest  of  them  would  deny,"  referring  to 
the  judge.  This  was  curious,  as  anticipating 
in  a  sense  the  well-known  mot  of  the  Master 
of  Trinity. 

There  were  two  judges  at  least  who  had 
been  fire-eaters  ;  one  had  killed  his  man. 
This  latter,  when  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
used  to  make  blunders  which  caused  much 
laughter  and  scoffing  at  almost  everything  he 
said.  Such,  for  instance,  as  his  saying,  "  I  do 
not  stand  here  to  mitigate  the  evils  of  the 
Court  of  Chancery,"  meaning  to  say  "  pal- 
liate." Some  of  his  friends,  however,  let  the 
casualty  just  mentioned  be  known,  and  it  was 
astonishing  to  see  what  a  change  of  a  sudden 
took  place,  and  how  respectfully  he  was 
treated  henceforward.  The  other  was  the 
Master  of  the  Rolls,  the  Hon.  T.  B.  C.  Smith 
—"Alphabet  Smith,"  O'Connell's  "Vinegar 
Cruet,"  an  epithet  truly  appropriate,  for  a 
more  bilious,  sour-looking  being  never  sat. 
232 


ftp  of  Dublin  Society 

I  had  had  the  ill  fortune  to  make  my  debut  at 
the  bar  before  him.  He  once  challenged  an 
opposing  counsel  in  open  court,  his  sensitive 
nature  being  fretted  beyond  all  endurance. 
Almost  everything  he  said  was  more  or  less 
disagreeable.  I  heard  him  address  a  counsel, 
"Not  a  single  word  of  what  you  have  been 
saying  this  half-hour  has  anything  to  do  with 
the  question." 

During  the  'forties  there  was  one  English- 
man on  the  bench,  Judge  Burton.  It  was 
one  of  the  most  curious  coincidences  that  he 
should  have  been  brought  over  by  O'Connell 
as  his  clerk,  and  getting  called  to  the  bar  was 
later  destined  to  try  and  sentence  his  old 
employer  ! 

I  heard  from  an  old  Irish  barrister  that 
Doherty,  the  Chief  Justice,  wishing  to  give 
Canning  a  good  idea  of  what  Irish  eloquence 
was,  sent  him  a  copy  of  some  famous  cause 
in  which  Bushe  and  all  the  "  great  guns  "  had 
expended  floods  of  oratory.  Canning  read  it 
with  interest,  and  later,  asked  by  Doherty 
233 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

how  he  liked  it,  replied,  "  Oh,  very  good 
indeed.  There  was  a  very  sensible  speech  in 
it  by  a  man  called  Burton."  There  was  much 
behind  this  significant  judgment. 

I  must  not  pass  by  two  men  of  extraordinary 
ability,  who  were  quite  unprovincial  in 
their  talents.  Both  were  Chancellors  of 
Ireland.  The  first  was  Ball,  a  truly  accom- 
plished man  and  jurist,  whose  first  speech  in 
the  House  created  quite  a  sensation.  He 
was  a  thoroughly  solid  orator.  The  other 
was  Hugh  Law,  who  Mr.  Gladstone  said 
was  the  best  law  officer  from  Ireland  he  ever 
had  dealings  with.  He  was  of  invaluable 
service  to  him  in  the  legal  details  of  the  new 
Irish  legislation.  Law  told  me  that  nothing 
more  amazed  him  in  all  the  round  of  Mr. 
Gladstone's  gifts  than  his  almost  instinctive 
grasp  of  legal  and  technical  details.  He  could 
draw  a  clause  as  well  as  any  parliamentary 
draftsman.  The  present  Mr.  Justice  Madden 
is  as  agreeable  as  he  is  accomplished.  There 
have  been  few  more  sudden  successes  than  his 
234 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

scholarly  and  pleasant  work  on  Shakespeare 
as  a  sportsman. 

What  lawyer  ever  made  such  profits  of  his 
talents  as  the  late  Lord  Morris  of  facetious 
memory  ?  Here  was  a  barrister  of  very 
moderate  talents,  but  endowed  with  a  rich 
brogue  and  a  certain  pushful  power  ;  and  yet, 
what  were  the  results?  :  (i)  a  law  officership; 
(2)  a  judgeship;  (3)  a  baronetcy;  (4)  a  life 
peerage;  (5)  a  superior  and  well-paid  post  for 
his  brother,  head  of  a  board,  &c. ;  (7)  a 
baronetcy  for  the  said  brother ;  (8)  a  well-paid 
post  for  his  nephew  ;  (9)  a  lordship  of  appeal 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  besides  other  good 
things  which  I  have  forgotten  ;  finally,  a 
British  peerage  for  himself,  on  which  he  with- 
drew from  public  life. 

This  was  no  bad  crop  to  reap.  I  suspect 
there  were  other  dependents  of  the  family 
who  obtained  "  berths "  through  the  same 
powerful  agency.  1  was  always  astonished  at 
his  success,  for  it  was  difficult  to  conceive  of 
a  less  refined  nature.  Most  men  of  the  world, 
235 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

and  especially  those  who  have  worked  their 
way  through  the  world,  feel  constrained  to 
simulate  even  a  sort  of  interest  in  the  doings 
or  feelings  of  other  people.  But  Lord 
Morris  had  no  such  notion.  He  had  little 
taste  for  books.  His  books  were  Lady  This 
and  Lord  That.  It  was  amusing  to  note  how 
his  attention  flagged  and  his  eyes  grew  listless 
as  any  favourite  topic,  such  as  cultivated  men 
like  to  discuss,  was  introduced.  A  world 
full  of  Lord  Morris  and  Killanins  would  be 
a  very  prosaic  affair.  I  think  his  humour 
was  rather  over-rated,  and  it  always  seemed 
to  me  that  the  whole  point  of  each  instance 
was  assumed  to  be  that  he  (Morris)  had  said 
it.  I  fancy  he  was  the  last  person  of  position 
that  used  what  might  be  called  oaths  or  as- 
severations. He  did  this,  not  from  profanity 
or  temper,  but  simply  from  a  wish  to  emphasise 

the  point   of  his  story.     "  By  G ,  sir,  I 

thought  the  feller  'ud  ha'  dropped  down,  &c." 
You  could  hear  him  in  the  Athenaeum  Club 
hall  holding  forth  in  the  richest  of  brogues. 
236 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

Some  of  the  judges  had  elegant  tastes — such 
as  Sir  Edward  Sullivan  in  Books,  others  in  art. 
In  Liffey  Street  there  used  to  be  a  small  num- 
ber of  "  old  curiosity  shops."  Lord  James 
Butler  had  found  here  Empire  furniture,  rare 
Sevres,  Chippendale  mirrors,  all  to  be  had 
"  for  songs."  The  Castle  folk  used  to  go 
down,  eager  to  trade  on  the  "  confiding  sim- 
plicity "  of  the  natives.  Now,  the  dealers 
are  thoroughly  wide  awake,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  obtain  a  bargain.  An  officer,  who  gallantly 
met  his  death  in  the  relief  of  Gordon,  carried 
off  some  thirty  fine  old  chimney-pieces,  to 
fix  in  some  houses  that  he  was  building  in 
London.  There  are  many  clever  collec- 
lioneurs  who  know  their  Liffey  Street  well. 

The  most  conspicuous  of  the  Irish  judges 
has  certainly  been  the  late  Lord  Fitzgerald — 
for  whose  talents  the  English  bar  had  the 
greatest  respect.  There  was  something 
calmly  judicial  in  his  tone  and  manner,  a 
quiet  dignity,  attended  by  reserve,  and 
absence  of  all  attempt  at  "  showing  off." 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Lord  Fitzgerald  was  a  very  successful  man, 
both  in  the  House  and  at  the  Bar.  He  had 
a  large  family,  and  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 
being  ambitious,  he  married  a  Peer's  sister, 
quite  a  girl — a  most  pleasing  and  interesting 
woman — perfectly  suited  to  him.  Then 
came  a  second  family.  How  hospitable  they 
were,  at  their  pretty  villa  Kilmarnock  at 
Ballybrack — situated  on  quite  an  Italian  head- 
land. Many  a  charming  Sunday's  dinner 
have  I  shared  in  down  there.  The  late  Judge 
O'Brien  also  won  much  praise  for  the 
admirable  way  in  which  he  directed  the 
"  Invincible  "  or  Phoenix  Park  murder  trials. 
Chief  Baron  Palles — the  last  of  all  the  Chief 
Barons — is  also  well  known  and  respected. 
The  one  solitary  Serjeant  left  is  found  at  the 
Irish  Bar — Serjeant  Hemphill,  M.P. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  give  an  idea  of  the 
uproarious  but  highly  amusing  scenes  that 
took  place  in  the  courts  when  any  sensational 
cause  was  being  tried.  The  galleries  would 
be  packed  with  idle  fellows — the  idler  bar 
238 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

struggled  for  places  in  their  own  quarter — 
applause  and  laughter  alternated.  The  highest 
point  of  excitement  was  reached  when  either 
that  wiry-haired  terrier  Fitzgibbon,  or  the 
bulldog  Whiteside,  "  rose  to  cross-examine." 
No  one  can  have  an  idea  of  the  ferocious 
bullying  to  which  the  unhappy  witness  was 
subjected — he  was  roared  at,  intimidated, 
ridiculed — everything  that  was  required  for 
the  examiner's  case  was  wrung  out  of  him  ; 
while  the  judge,  secretly  enjoying  the  fun 
with  the  rest,  looked  on  smiling,  or  some- 
times interfered  with  only  a  gentle  deprecation. 
No  play  could  be  more  interesting.  I  recall 
a  number  of  exciting  cases  which  drew  great 
houses — such  as  Matthew  v.  Harty,  where 
a  young  man  had  been  imprisoned  in  a  lunatic 
asylum — the  great  Montgarret  peerage — and 
the  most  famous  of  all,  the  Yelverton  mar- 
riage case.  I  recall  this  commencing  quite 
unostentatiously  in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  a 
half-empty  court;  and  being  attracted  by  the 
interesting  plaintiff  who  was  under  examina- 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

tion.  This  fair  creature  was  a  most  pleasing 
heroine — with  her  fair  hair,  sweet  voice,  and 
suffering  manner.  She  told  her  sad  story  in 
the  most  captivating  manner,  and  most  effec- 
tively. But  it  would  be  difficult  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  uncontrolled  riot  that  continually 
reigned  in  court.  There  were  cheers,  up- 
roarious laughter,  applause,  and  scarcely 
restrained  execration  for  the  unhappy  de- 
fendant. Mr.  Brewster,  who  was  his  counsel, 
had  a  most  difficult  and  painful  task  ;  while 
Whiteside  flung  himself  into  the  case  with  a 
sort  of  passionate  hysteria  almost  inconceiv- 
able. As  was  to  be  expected,  all  this  frantic 
enthusiasm  abated  when  her  cause  failed  and 
the  Dublin  verdict  was  superseded  by  that  of 
the  House  of  Lords.  I  knew  her  in  her  later, 
less  prosperous  days,  when  the  poor  creature 
was  trying  to  get  something  substantial 
from  her  former  adherents  ;  but  there  is  no 
situation  more  piteous  than  that  of  the  heroine 
of  whom  people  are  grown  tired. 

The  whole  community  became  excited,  and 
240 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

for   weeks   nothing  else  was   talked  of.     A 
verse  of  the  street  ballad  will  be  recalled  : 

Long  life  unto  the  jury 

That  brought  the  verdict  home, 

Because  she  was  a  mimber 
Of  the  Holy  Church  of  Rome. 

The  unconscious  naivete  of  the  confession, 
"  because  she  was,"  which  more  or  less  was  true 
enough,  is  amusing.  Once  after  a  dinner- 
party the  facetious  Nedley,  with  a  companion 
as  facetious,  stood  and  sang  this  lilt  in 
character  and  with  the  proper  twang  and 
brogue  of  the  street  minstrel,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  the  company.  A  distinguished 
Catholic  physician,  however,  took  deep 
umbrage  at  the  performance,  declaring  an 
insult  to  his  faith  had  been  intended.  Things 
were  always  liable  to  "  gang  agley  "  in  this 
fashion. 

Another  leading  figure  at  the  bar  was  the 

amiable  and  highly  popular  O'Hagan — Tom 

O'Hagan,  as  he  was  called — a  strong  patriot 

of  extraordinary  oratorical  power,  that  is,  of 

H1  ft 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

exceeding    fluency.      He  was  always   "agin 
the  Government,"  particularly  at  any  dramatic 
or  stirring  crisis.     He  was  a  most  agreeable, 
conscientious,    thoroughly  good    man  ;    but 
he  certainly   made  ihis   patriotism   pay ;  and 
in  no  country  does  patriotism  pay  so  well  as 
in  Ireland — never  was  man  so  fortunate  or 
enjoyed  such  a  stream  of  favours.     He  was 
long  a  County  Court  Judge,  but  when  Mr. 
Gladstone   "arrived,"    he     became   the   first 
Catholic  Chancellor — was  made  a  peer,  and — 
O    la    bonne   fortune  ! — albeit    past    sixty, 
espoused  a    wealthy    young    lady   belonging 
to  one  of  the  oldest  English  families.     Under 
the  Land  Act  his  son-in-law  became  judge  of 
the  court,   and    others    of  the    family   were 
comfortably  provided   for.     He  was  a  man 
of  unbounded    hospitality,    and,    settling   in 
London,    gathered    in    at  repeated     dinner- 
parties everybody  of  note   or  that  was  worth 
knowing.     I  don't  know  any  one  to   whose 
personality  the  word  "  agreeable  "  could  have 
been  more  fitly  applied.     And  yet  there  were 
242 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

many  things  that  troubled  him.  I  recall  his 
saying  to  me,  on  a  walk  we  had  together, 
"  Alas,  I  was  far  happier  as  a  simple  County 
Court  Judge."  He  was  seized  suddenly  with 
a  fit,  and,  after  long  lingering,  died. 

We  should  have  heard  "  Tom  "  O'Hagan 
in  such  a  case  as  that  of  the  Bible-burning 
trial,  when  a  monk — Father  Petcherine,  I 
think — was  prosecuted  for  this  offence.  How 
impassioned  he  was  !  how  he  vindicated  the 
right  to  burn  !  And  yet,  how  droll  it  all  was  ! 
For  here  was  no  freethinker  or  infidel,  to 
whom  the  burning  of  the  sacred  volume 
might  seem  a  desirable  thing — but  a  pious 
priest,  who  reverenced  it !  I  forget  how  it 
terminated. 

"  Tom "  O'Hagan  was  a  most  fervid 
orator,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  carried 
away  by  the  full  torrent  of  his  feelings. 
Once  on  circuit  he  was  conducting  a  case 
against  a  local  "  gay  Lothario,"  who  was 
sitting  almost  behind  him.  I  had  come  in 
late,  just  as  he  was  in  the  middle  of  an 
243 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

impassioned  burst,  when  he  turned  round 
and  began  "  branding  "  the  culprit,  addressing 
his  indignant  glances  and  gestures  to  #;<?, 
who,  he  assumed,  was  the  heartless  betrayer. 
It  was  exactly  Serjeant  Buzfuz  turning  on 
Mr.  Pickwick  in  court.  He  grew  warmer 
and  warmer — "  If  this  man  has  any  heart,  if 
he  has  one  spark  of  honour  left."  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  tittering,  as  may  be 
imagined. 

Poor  Lord  O'Hagan  !  he  had,  I  believe, 
but  the  one  fly  in  his  ointment — or  perhaps 
his  lady  had.  It  was  that  unfortunate 
Hibernian  title — which  was  rather  too  racy  of 
the  soil.  "  Lord  o'  This "  or  "  Lord  o1 
That  "  does  not  command  respect.  It  seems 
out  of  an  Irish  novel.  The  old  Irish  Peers 
were  far  more  romantic  in  devising  their 
titles — Earl  de  Montalt,  Lord  Belvedere,  Lord 
Bellamont,  Lord  Charlemont,  Lord  de  Vesci, 
Lord  de  Montmorenci.  It  would  have  been 
easy  enough,  and  as  cheap,  to  devise  something 
romantic,  retaining  O'Hagan  as  the  family 
244 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

name.  I  was  told  that  an  attempt  was  made 
to  have  the  title  changed  into  Townley — 
Viscount  Townley  would  have  sounded 
better.  What  has  happened  since  the  death 
of  this  pleasant  man  would  make  a  curious 
chapter. 

At  his  obsequies  there  occurred  what  I 
thought  was  a  most  singular  incident.  It  was 
at  the  old  Warwick  St.  Chapel,  which  is  lofty, 
with  a  high,  flat  skylight.  All  the  dignitaries 
of  the  church,  and  the  friends,  widow,  etc., 
were  seated  round  ;  the  Office  was  being 
chanted  ;  when  lo  !  there  came  a  crash  of 
broken  and  falling  glass,  and  a  great  black  cat 
was  precipitated  down — some  fifty  feet,  I 
suppose — into  the  middle  of  the  choir,  when 
she  got  up  and  disappeared  in  some  mysterious 
way. 

I  recall  once,  when  at  the  old  town 
of  Monaghan  on  circuit,  my  astonishment  at 
hearing  in  the  middle  of  the  night  the  watch- 
man beneath  the  inn  windows  calling  out  in 
sonorous  tones,  "  Past  twelve  o'clock,  and  a 
H5 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

cloudy  night  ! "  This  left  a  strange,  old- 
world  impression.  There  was,  by  the  way, 
at  these  assizes  a  strange  romantic  murder 
trial  in  which  I  was  concerned,  the  detection 
of  which  turned  upon  the  victim's  watch, 
which  had  stopped  at  a  particular  hour,  and 
which  was  the  witness  that  convicted  the 
accused.  An  account  of  the  trial  was  written 
for  Dickens's  journal.  It  made  a  deep 
impression,  and  I  was  not  astonished  to  find 
that  he  utilised  this  strange  incident  in  his 
"  Mutual  Friend." 

The  two  successful  brothers-in-law,  White- 
side  and  Napier,  both  held  high  place  at  the 
bar,  Napier  being  Member  for  the  Univer- 
sity, Whiteside  for  Enniskillen.  Napier — 
the  Right  Hon.  Joseph — was  much  gibed 
at  for  his  ostentatiously  sanctimonious  ways, 
his  soft  creeping  manner  and  voice.  Some 
set  him  down  as  a  sort  of  Stiggins,  others 
as  "  a  very  good  man."  Perhaps  he  was 
something  between. 

Whiteside,    tempestuous  and  torrential  as 
246 


<§f  of  Dublin  Society 

one  of  the  great  French  rivers,  contrasted  with 
his  relative's  somewhat  sluggish  stream.  Mrs. 
Napier  was  a  good-natured  being — of  strange 
expressions  and  blunders,  uttered  in  a  rather 
strange  voice.  These  odd  speeches  were 
circulated  with  enjoyment,  much  as  were 
those  of  Mrs.  Hudson,  to  which  class  they 
belonged  :  as  when  she  would  declare  that 
"  she  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Napier's  taking 
a  purge,"  meaning  thereby,  after  her  fashion 
of  pronunciation,  "  taking  a  peerage." 
Thackeray — than  whom  none  knew  better  or 
so  well  (marvellous  in  a  Saxon  !)  the  niceties  of 
the  Irish  pronunciation,  or  the  particular  tones 
of  the  brogue,  which  go  deep  and  signify 
character — once  heard  a  man  declare  that 
"  they  had  a  bauncy  in  their  family  " — i.e>  a 
baronetcy — and  all  Irish  will  recognise  the 
nuance.  One  of  her  daughters — a  pretty 
girl  enough,  with  a  good  voice — was  married 
to  Sir  Duncan  Macgregor's  son,  a  man — the 
father,  I  mean — whom  I  always  looked  at  with 
extraordinary  interest,  as  I  ever  have  done  on 
247 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

one  who  has  passed  through  some  wonderful 
adventures  of  peril.  For  he  was  one  of  the 
few  survivors  that  escaped  from  the  great 
burning  Indiaman  which  is  a  "  leading  case," 
as  it  were,  in  all  the  collections  of  "  ship- 
wrecks and  adventures  at  sea."  He  was 
rescued,  and  became  head  of  the  Irish  Con- 
stabulary. The  humorous  element  in  this 
highly  serious  family  was  this — that  the 
father,  generally  known  as  "  Holy  Joe,"  was 
blessed  with  a  son  who  was  a  perfect  "  pickle." 
What  wrestlings  had  "  Holy  Joe "  had  to 
encounter  in  this  connection  !  He  was  cer- 
tainly sorely  tried  by  his  "  Willie,"  and  most 
ludicrous  it  was  to  see  how  this  Willie  felt 
compelled,  for  the  mere  respectability  of  the 
family,  to  assume  a  sort  of  serious  air.  When 
he  came  to  the  north-east  circuit  with  us,  it 
was  a  perpetual  delight  to  see  how  Willie 
shook  himself  free  of"  Holy  Joe's  "  influence, 
and  drank  and  sang,  and  comported  himself 
in  a  very  pleasant  and  perhaps  unedifying  way. 
He  was  highly  popular,  I  really  believe,  on 
248 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

the  ground  of  his  amusing  antagonism  to  his 
sire's  methods.  How  he  used  to  give  us  a  lilt, 
with  chorus,  known  as  "  The  Leather 
Breeches  "  !  And  here  again  I  must  note  the 
strange  phenomenon  that  this  black,  bitter, 
Papist-hating  youth  was  at  heart  a  far  better 
and  more  genuine  Irishman  than  the  regular 
native  element  belonging  to  the  old  faith. 
He  delighted  in  consorting  with  poor  Paddy, 
and  knew  all  his  ways,  enjoyed  his  fun  and 
frolic,  and  told  stories  of'  him  with  immense 
zest.  Poor  Willie,  he  had  but  a  short  run 
for  his  money  ! 

Whiteside  was  married  to  Napier's  sister — 
who  Mrs.  Napier  was  I  know  not,  but  they 
went  forward  very  prosperously — the  brothers- 
in-law  advancing  part  passu.  Napier  was 
Attorney-General  for  Ireland,  with  Whiteside 
as  Solicitor.  This  was  all  very  well  until  a 
later  administration  came,  when  "  Holy  Joe  " 
became  Lord  Chancellor  of  Ireland  and  his 
brother-in-law  Attorney-General.  I  believe 
there  was  much  friction  about  this  change, 
H9 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

and  the  family  affection  was  disturbed  in 
consequence.  There  was,  indeed,  much 
clamour  about  the  appointment,  for  "  Holy 
Joe  "  was  known  to  be  quite  deaf,  and  could 
scarcely  hear  the  judges'  words  without  their 
being  repeated  twice  or  so,  he  making  an  ex- 
temporary trumpet  of  his  hand.  Hence  the 
popular  distich,  "  Mr.  Na-/^r,  with  his  hand 
to  his  ear."  Of  course,  he  had  the  advantage 
that  he  could  simulate  hearing  and  perfect 
intelligence,  with  no  one  to  question  it.  The 
impetuous  James  thought  that  the  oleaginous 
Joseph  had  robbed  him  of  his  birthright,  and 
in  this  connection  I  recall  a  very  awkward 
incident.  I  had  gone  down  to  dine  at 
Marino — Lord  Charlemont's  house — for  a 
"  gilt-edged"  dinner,  at  which  were  announced 
first  the  Attorney-General  and  Mrs.  White- 
side,  who  entered  smiling,  and  presently  the 
Lord  Chancellor — Napier  !  This  was  most 
unpleasant ;  but  the  pair  carried  it  off  most 
admirably.  Even  after  dinner,  when  the 
ladies  had  gone  up  and  the  talk  was  among 
250 


<S?  of  Dublin  Society 

half  a  dozen,  they  contrived  never  to  see  or 
address  each  other.  But  the  host  surely 
ought  to  have  known  what  was  known  to 
"  the  man  in  the  street." 

Later,  when  a  fresh  opening  for  gaining 
the  championship  came  round,  Whitehouse 
thought  he  might  fairly  reckon  on  the  prize. 
No  one  had  worked  so  hard  for  his  party, 
his  torrential  eloquence  was  ever  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  he  would  again  and  again 
rush  into  the  affray.  As  he  told  me  himself,  Lord 
Derby  would  say  to  him  jocularly  :  "  Now, 
Whiteside,  is  your  shillelagh  ready?"  When 
the  chance  came,  however,  there  was  a  policy 
of  general  conciliation  on  foot — Whiteside 
was  a  high  Protestant  champion — an  Orange- 
man, to  boot — and  was, besides,  believed  to  be 
imperfectly  equipped  with  law,  and  had  cer- 
tainly no  "  equity."  What  was  his  rage  and 
despair  when  he  found  the  coveted  post 
snatched  from  him  and  given  to  Brewster — 
while  he  was  "  put  off  "  with  the  miserable 
consolation  prize  of  the  Chief  Justiceship  ! 
251 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

His  friend  Forster  told  me  that  his  grief  and 
mortification  were  terrible — he  could  not  sleep 
of  nights.  Most  people  thought  that  the 
Chief  Justiceship  was  an  office  beyond  his 
merits,  and  that  he  was  equally  unsuited  to  it. 
But  he  was  for  a  time  inconsolable. 

I  was  sorry  for  him — he  was  such  a  pleasant, 
impulsive  creature — -juvenile  to  a  degree — 
ever  buoyant,  even  to  "  giving  himself  away." 
The  Chancellorship  would  not  have  confined 
him  to  Dublin  and  the  drudgery  of  the  courts. 
He  could  have  been  constantly  in  his  darling 
London.  Poor  Whiteside,  he  was  but  ill  at 
home  in  the  Queen's  Bench — a  sort  of  un- 
comfortable prison  for  him  !  His  rival,  the 
Rt.  Hon.  Abraham  Brewster,  used  to  give 
himself  out  as  the  sole  Peelite  in  Ireland. 
With  an  affectation  that  used  to  amuse  his 
friends,  he  would  talk  of  "  Grarham,"  as  he 
styled  Sir  James  Graham,  and  rather  posed 
as  a  martyr.  He,  however,  attained  the 
Chancellorship.  It  was  thought  surprising  in 
the  'fifties  that  there  should  be  three  Roman 
252 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

Catholic  judges  in  the  Common  Pleas,  and  it 
was  dubbed  "  the  court  of  Rome." 

The  familiar  "  four  courts" — so  called 
because  four  courts  open  out  of  a  fine  circular 
hall,  though  there  are  now  six  or  seven  courts — 
is  really  an  imposing  building.  It  is  far  more 
impressive,  with  its  fine  ornamental  dome, 
than  the  "  poorish "  incoherent  structure 
which,  at  the  cost  of  so  much  time  and  treasure, 
does  the  same  duty  in  London.  The  Dublin 
Hall  is  surrounded  by  statues — and  there  is 
one  of  Whiteside  by  Woolner,  who,  I  remem- 
ber, consulted  me  on  the  likeness.  It  is  hardly 
spirited  enough  in  the  attitude.  I  recall  asking 
one  of  the  attendants  in  the  Hall  who  was 
the  sculptor  of  some  statue.  He  answered  : 

"  Sure,  it's  by  Misther ,  the  same,  sir,  that 

cut  Sir  Michael  yonder,"  i.e.,  sculpsit. 

Among  the  judges,  there  was  one  of  singular 
depth  and  ability,  but  strangely  reserved, 
taciturn,  and  to  a  certain  extent  an  oddity. 
He  never  entertained  nor  was  entertained. 
He  kept  himself  to  himself,  in  his  large 
253 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

gloomy  and  inhospitable  house  in  Merrion 
Square,  which  is  now,  rather  appropriately, 
turned  into  a  convent.  He  was  so  thoroughly 
well  imbued  with  legal  knowledge  and  a 
spirit  of  acute  logic,  that  he  could  not 
conceal  his  contempt  for  the  more  superficial 
gifts  of  his  comrades,  and,  with  little  in  life 
to  entertain  him,  he  found  a  daily  enjoyment 
in  quietly  and  sarcastically  pointing  out  their 
lapses — to  themselves.  The  fashion  in  which 
this  was  done  showed  the  highest  "  finish," 
and  he  ever  succeeded  in  making  them 
thoroughly  uncomfortable.  The  richest  treat 
was  when  he  sat  as  Lord  Justice  with  his  col- 
league Whiteside,  whose  rambling  "  splash- 
ings  "  and  open  flounderings,  covered  by  a 
flood  of  words,  laid  him  constantly  open  to 
correction.  Often  his  companion's  whole 
judgment  was  devoted  to  a  sneering  criticism 
of  his  colleague,  artfully  disguised  as  a 
discussion  and  couched  in  ironical  praises. 
Poor  Whiteside  used  to  writhe  like  a  worm 
on  a  hook,  and  shift  his  position  in  restless 
254 


ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

impatience  as  he  listened.  The  worst  was, 
that  it  was  felt  that  Christian — such  was  his 
name — was  right.  One  could  but  pity,  for 
the  victim  had  indeed  but  a  mauvais  quart 
cTheure.  Another  instance  of  Christian's 
pleasant  style  :  he  was  giving  judgment  on 
some  right-of-way  question,  when  his  colleague, 
a  rough-speaking  judge,  interrupted  :  "  Sure, 
when  a  fellow's  had  his  piece  of  ground  so 
long,  what  the  divil's  right  has  another  fellow 
to  come  in  and  put  him  out  ? "  Christian  : 
"  That's  exactly  what  I  have  been  trying  to 
convey,  though  I  could  not  express  it  so 
forcibly  as  the  learned  judge  has  done." 

I  need  say  little  of  Dowse,  the  witty 
advocate  and  talker,  who  is  still  well  re- 
collected in  the  House  of  Commons.  There 
was  a  northern  "  pawkiness "  about  all  he 
said,  well  pointed  by  his  peculiar  accent.  His 
sayings  were  notable  for  their  original  cast. 
He  carried  every  one  with  him — his  whole 
speech  at  the  court  was  a  continuous  flow  of 
comic  points.  The  only  instance  I  can  recall 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

at  the  moment  was  his  quiet  remark,  when 
arguing  on  a  Municipal  Act  which  directed 
that  a  certain  disorderly  class  of  females  should 
be  carted  through  the  public  streets, — "  a 
custom,"  he  said,  "  which  has  since  fallen  into 
desuetude ;  I  believe,  my  lord,  from  the 
impossibility  of  the  corporations  providing 
carts  in  sufficient  numbers."  "  A  bar  of 
iron,  gentlemen!"  he  said,  at  some  trial  for 
assault ;  "  why,  this  bar  of  iron  at  last  has 
dwindled  into  the  plain,  familiar  domestic 
poker."  "It  was  only  a  lark,  they  tell  us; 
though  I  never  could  see  why  that  respectable 
bird  should  have  the  credit  of  such  doings." 

I  once  heard  a  barrister — a  Queen's 
Counsel,  too — arguing  in  a  sheep- stealing 
case ;  getting  into  difficulties,  he  actually 
urged  that  the  culprit  was  also  guilty  of  re- 
ceiving. "  Surely,  my  lord,  he  might  have 
received  the  sheep  from  himself ~  knowing  it 
to  be  stolen.  That  is  only  common  sense, 
my  lord."  No  wonder  the  opposing  counsel 

said,  "Only  the  common  sense  of  Mr. ." 

256 


<§?  of  Dublin  Society 

One  of  the  raciest,  most  exuberant  barristers 
I  ever  met  was  McBlain,  of  the  northern 
circuit.  His  spirits  were  unbounded  ;  and 
in  his  cups  he  would  burst  into  quite  Homeric 
strains,  describing  one  as  "  the  far-darting 
Murphy,"  who  had  "  buried  his  long-waving, 
shadowy  javelin  in  my  omphalos"  There  was 
a  ponderous,  slow-moving  counsel,  whom 

he  would  address  as  "the  swift-footed  H ." 

This  gentleman  rarely  spoke,  but  listened 
attentively  to  these  humorous  quips,  when 
our  friend  asked,  "  Isn't  he  like  the  good  old 
country  member  in  the  House  of  Commons 
who,  though  he  said  nothing,  would  always 
vote  strong?" 

This  amusing  man  used  to  go  regularly 
to  Homburg,  where,  at  table  d'hote  and  else- 
where, he  made  things  "  hum,"  and  delighted 
strangers  with  his  histrionics.  He  had  a  way 
of  saying  across  the  table  to  me,  "  I  saw  your 
friend  Patti  on  the  promenade  with  her  hus- 
band ; "  or  again,  "  I  saw  your  friend  the 
King  of  Prussia  driving."  This  was  a 

257  R 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

favourite  colloquialism  of  his.  A  grave 
Englishman  spoke  to  me  later  in  the  evening : 
"How  I  do  envy  you,"  he  said  ;  "I  come  here 
and  I  go  away  without  getting  to  know  a 
soul."  "Well,  I  know  very  few,"  I  said. 
"  Oh,  but  Madame  Patti  and  the  King  of 
Prussia ! "  I  have  seen  him  keeping  both 
sides  of  the  table  in  a  roar,  as  he  indulged  in 
his  vehement  flights.  The  Vice-Chancellor, 
Malins,  was  particularly  delighted  with  him. 

I  once  heard  a  barrister  say  humbly,  when 
the  court  objected  to  an  affidavit,  "I'll  under- 
take to  procure  from  the  solicitor  any  affidavit 
that  your  lordship  may  require."  Nothing 
could  be  more  accommodating.  In  an  action 
brought  against  a  clergyman  for  circulating 
scandalous  stories  against  another,  I  heard 
him  plead  in  the  witness  box  that  "  he  had 
only  propagated  these  tales  with  the  view  of 
denying  them  " — a  truly  comical  notion. 

There   was    Sergeant    Armstrong,    too,    a 
rough  customer  indeed,  who  could  turn  his 
witness   "  inside-out."     In   the   Irish   courts, 
258 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

this  unfortunate  being  was  always  directed  to 
"get  upon  the  table" — upon  which  the  chair 
of  torture  was  screwed  down  ;  there  he  sat 
most  grotesquely  conspicuous.  There  was 
Rollestone,  too — another  vigorous  counsel,  of 
whom  a  good-humoured  judge,  in  a  dispute  as 
to  the  identity  of  a  piece  of  ground,  said — 
"  Don't  I  know  it  well  ? — and  Charley  Rolle- 
stone there  and  I,  didn't  we  often  wrastle 
together  all  over  it  ? " 

There  was  Isaac  Butt,  too,  who  had  a  great 
reputation,  though  he  never  much  impressed 
me,  owing  to  his  hesitating  manner.  His  life 
seemed  to  be  a  constant  struggle  with  pe- 
cuniary difficulties,  and  this,  being  well  known, 
impaired  the  force  of  his  advocacy.  He  was 
of  the  same  stamp  as  Judge  Keogh,  only  the 
latter  was  more  fortunate.  Money  was  often 
scarce  at  the  bar,  and  at  times  you  could 
not  be  sure  of  your  fees.  I  once  heard  a 
counsel — when  a  small  case  had  been  decided 
against  him — say  contemptuously  to  his 
opponent  :  "  Well,  that's  two  guineas  for 
259 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

you,  anyhow," — meaning   that    he  was  now 
likely  to  get  his  fee. 

This  dramatic  element,  with  the  oratorical 
bursts  and  impassioned  appeals,  is  no  longer 
to  be  found.  The  present  counsel  are  mostly 
calm,  sober,  and  perhaps  humdrum  practi- 
tioners, much  like  their  brethren  across  the 
water. 

Wolfe,  who  was  Irish  Solicitor-General,  I 
think,  about  the  time  of  the  Norton  and 
Melbourne  case  (he  was  of  the  "  Not-a-drum- 
was-heard  "  family),  told  a  friend  of  mine  that 
he  was  taking  an  evening  walk  when  he  found 
himself  opposite  Lord  Melbourne's  house  in  the 
Park.  As  one  would  naturally  do,  he  stopped 
to  have  "  a  good  look  at  it,"  and  was  gazing 
abstractedly  at  one  of  the  rooms  mentioned  in 
the  trial  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  heard  a  pleasant  voice  :  "  How 
does  Mr.  Sergeant  Wolfe  do  to-night  ? "  It 
was  the  owner  of  the  mansion,  who  looked  at 
him  with  a  sly,  half-humorous  glance.  It 
was  a  rather  comic  situation. 
260 


<H?  of  Dublin  Society 

A  barrister,  speaking  contemptuously  of 
the  gossip  that  goes  on  in  some  small  towns, 
said  :  "  Why,  my  lud,  they  know  the  number 
of  the  feathers  in  each  other's  beds  !  "  An 
old  servant  said  to  his  master  :  "  Ah  sir,  be 
like  a  gentleman,  and  head  the  fut  o'  your 
own  table." 

Who  recalls  now  "  Buffer  "  Johnston  and 
John  Reilly  ?  The  latter  had  captured  a 
daughter  of  Lord  St.  Leonards  when  he  was 
Chancellor,  and  we  heard  a  good  deal  of  "  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Reilly."  Johnston  was  a  portly, 
black-whiskered  barrister,  who  had  a  position 
in  society,  thinking  a  vast  deal  of  himself,  as 
such  stout  men  do.  But  never  was  there  a 
more  appropriate  name — "  the  Buffer."  He 
looked  the  "  buffer  "  all  over,  and  all  he  said 
had  a  "  buffer  "  tone.  There  were  a  number 
of  these  self-asserting  men  about ;  no  one 
could  say  what  they  had  to  recommend  them, 
but  they  were  accepted,  and  you  heard  con- 
stantly of  what  "Buffer"  had  said,  or  what 
"  John  Reilly  "  says. 

261 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

There  was  a  young  barrister,  C ,  who 

could  not  deal  with  any  subject  except  in  the 
most  elevated  and  grandiloquent  strain.  He 
would  talk  gravely  of  the  **  lordly  cham- 
pagne and  the  majestic  port."  Once,  in  an 
action  about  a  strip  of  grass  attached  to  a 
mud  cabin  in  Galway,  he  pleaded  :  "  Gentle- 
men, my  client  found  this  tract  a  desert,  and 
he  changed  its  face  to  a  garden  of  roses. 
Before,  what  was  it  ?  a  howling  wilderness, 
whence  not  even  an  attenuated  snipe  could 
find  place  to  rest  its  wasted  foot."  It  was 
long  before  he  heard  the  last  of  the  "  atten- 
uated snipe." 

I  always  admired  the  sarcastic  judgment 
given  by  a  judge  whose  name  I  have  for- 
gotten. Two  of  his  brethren  had  differed  in 
giving  their  judgments,  when  he  said  :  "  I 
concur  with  my  brother  Joy,  for  the  reasons 
given  by  my  brother  McClelland."  This  was 
quite  in  Bethell's  style. 

There  was  a  case  where  the  object  in  dispute 
was  a  cow,  which  had  been  had  on  hire  and 
262 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

was  nearly  starved  to  death  by  the  lessee.  The 
judge,  asking  who  appeared  for  the  plaintiff, 
was  answered  by  a  sort  of  "  whining  "  barrister, 
"  My  lard,  I  appear  for  the  poor  cow" 

I  also  heard  a  muscular  clergyman,  asked 
about  a  distance,  say  carelessly :  "  Well,  it  was 
about  a  -pistol  shot  from  my  house."  I  once 
heard  this  really  good  bull  uttered  by  a 
counsel :  "  He  returned  the  papers,  my  lord, 
but  with  this  fatal  omission  ;  he  had  left  in 
the  names  of  the  two  townlands." 

Such  English  lawyers  as  Burton,  Hart, 
Sugden,  Campbell,  and  others,  were  of  great 
value  to  the  Irish  courts,  as  they  brought 
genuine  law  into  fashion  instead  of  talk,  and 
regulated  the  procedure.  Sugden  installed 
his  son  in  a  lucrative  office  in  the  Chancery 
Court.  He  was  a  curious  personage.  It 
was  told  of  him  that  he  occupied  two  houses 
next  door  to  each  other,  with  two  gardens  in 
front.  A  bawling  hawker  opened  the  gate, 
walked  up  the  garden  walk,  and  gave  a  loud 
knock,  on  which  Sugden  burst  out  on  him 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

with  fury,  and  sent  him  away  thoroughly 
scared.  The  fellow  thought  he  would  try 
the  next  house,  opened  the  gate,  walked 
up,  and  gave  another  loud  knock.  When 
the  door  was  violently  opened  by  the  same 
person,  and  he  was  again  assailed,  thinking  it 
was  witchcraft,  he  flung  down  his  basket 
and  fled. 

Counsel,  in  those  days,  were  an  extra- 
ordinary and  brilliant,  if  tumultuous,  party. 
There  were  Whiteside,  Macdonough,  Fitz- 
Gibbon,  and  Brewster,  who  had  all  the  lead- 
ing nisi-prius  and  speech-making  business. 
Of  these,  the  most  infinitely  delightful  was 
Macdonough.  Surely,  out  of  Moliere  or 
Congreve,  a  more  entertaining  character  could 
not  be  conceived.  He  was  very  tall,  and 
affected  an  absurd  gracefulness  in  his 
language  and  movements  that  was  most 
diverting.  He  had  a  sort  of  soft  plausi- 
bility that  in  another  would  have  been  sheer 
impudence — so  far-fetched  and  transparent 
were  the  pleas  he  would  offer.  But  all  was 
264 


<S?  of  Dublin  Society 

done  with  a  smooth  and  almost  sancti- 
monious air.  He  was,  moreover,  pronounced 
by  the  ill-natured  to  be  a  sort  of  Lothario. 
I  once  heard  him  answer,  with  due  gravity, 
the  venerable  old  Chief  Justice  Lefroy,  who 
put  a  question  as  to  the  relation  of  the 
parties.  "  She  is  not  our  wife,  my  lord,  but 
we  have  been  living  with  her  for  years,  and 
have  had  several  children  by  her."  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  identification  of  counsel  with 
client  could  not  be  put  in  more  amusing 
fashion.  And  his  own  reputation  lent  a 
piquancy  to  the  speech.  Mac,  as  he  was 
called,  got  into  Parliament  for  the  then 
corrupt  borough  of  Sligo,  where  contests 
caused  heavy  drawings  on  his  hard-earned 
savings.  Strange  to  say,  in  London  he  had 
some  success,  owing  to  the  patronage  of  a 
certain  duchess,  who  was  delighted  with  his 
smooth  circumlocutions  and  old-fashioned 
compliments.  Folk,  however,  brought  back 
stories  of  social  mistakes ;  as  when  the 
duchess  took  leave  of  him  :  "  Well,  your 
265 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

grace,  I  shall  hope  to  see  your  grace  when  I 
come  to  town  again."  "  Ah,  Mr.  Mac- 
donough,  I  may  be  in  Kensal  Green  then  ! " 
"  But  your  grace  will  surely  come  up  for  the 
season  ? "  He  thought  it  was  the  family 
seat  in  the  country.  This  tale  gave  great 
delight. 

Once  he  was  induced  to  give  a  ball — a 
great  event.  A  splendid  sight  it  was  to  see 
"  Mac  "  promenading  it  in  state  with  some 
important  dowager,  and  making  regular 
speeches  to  groups,  as  though  returning 
thanks  for  their  attendance.  He  himself 
believed — just  as  Joseph  Surface  would — in 
these  flourishings — at  least,  he  thought  they 
produced  an  effect.  The  supper  rooms  were 
carefully  locked  till  the  psychological  moment 
arrived,  waiting,  perhaps,  some  distinguished 
guest.  But  Mac's  familiar  friends,  growing 
hungry,  began  to  gather  together  at  the  door, 
and  soon  grew  all  but  clamorous.  They 
somehow  got  it  open,  and  made  a  regular 
raid  on  the  dainties.  There  was  some  excel- 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

lent  roast  game,  which  was  cleared  off  in  a 
twinkling,  before  Mac  and  his  distinguished 
guests  could  get  down.  He  was  very  angry. 
In  the  early  days  of  my  boyhood  there  was 
a  far  higher  type  of  physician  than  is  now  often 
found.  Such  was  Sir  Henry  Marsh — of  a 
spare,  thin  figure,  his  chin  and  lips  of  a 
monastic  tint,  and  very  much  suggesting  that 
finished  actor,  Mr.  Hare.  He  had  lost  a 
couple  of  fingers  in  an  operation,  to  be  noted 
by  his  black  glove  and  ribbon.  He  was  to 
be  seen  in  his  handsome  open  victoria,  drawn 
by  a  fiery  pair  of  horses,  always  driven  at  full 
speed,  while  he  lay  back  wrapped  in  his  cloak. 
He  was  described  in  a  local  novel  as  "Sir  Hum- 
bug Drivequick,"  which  in  those  dull  days 
was  thought  a  bit  of  happy  satire.  His  name 
and  writings  were  well  known  in  the  medical 
world.  Stokes  was  another  of  this  fine  old 
school  ;  his  writings  and  discoveries,  as  well 
as  those  of  Graves  and  Colles,  were  familiar 
to  the  profession.  Perhaps  the  most  accom- 
plished and  popular  was  the  Surgeon-General, 
267 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Sir  Philip  Crampton,  whom  we  knew  inti- 
mately. It  was  something  for  me  to  have  my 
throat  burned  with  caustic  by  the  pleasant 
physician  who  had  well  known  and  enter- 
tained Walter  Scott,  who  was  pleased  with 
him.  In  those  days  no  physician  would  have 
accepted  anything  short  of  a  baronetcy. 
Knighthoods  were  despised  and  laughed  at. 
It  is  only  in  our  time  that  they  have  been 
sought,  and  have  risen  in  value.  In  latter 
times  a  number  of  these  honours  were  offered 
to  the  Dublin  physicians,  by  whom  at  first 
they  were  indignantly  rejected.  However,  a 
shrewd  surgeon,  Porter,  accepted,  and,  as  it 
was  prophesied,  the  "  sir  "  was  found  of  pro- 
fessional value,  people  not  caring  to  distinguish 
between  the  two  kinds  of  "  sirs."  Gradually 
the  others  came  in,  save  one — the  pleasant  and 
most  hospitable  Sir  John  Bankes — who  held 
aloof  for  years,  and  at  last  compromised  the 
matter  by  accepting  a  K.C.B.  An  old  friend 
of  mine  recived  an  introduction  to  Sir  Philip 
Crampton,  from  a  well-known  talkative  and 
268 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

omniscient  lady— at  least,  in  her  own  opinion. 
Presenting  the  letter,  the  patient  said,  "  I 
have  come  to  you,  sir,  because  the  lady  says 
you  are  the  second  best  physician  in  Ireland." 
Sir  Philip  looked  rather  displeased,  when  the 
other  went  on  :  "You  know,  sir,  she  considers 
herself  the  first." 

Another  well-known  physician  was  Sir 
Dominic  Corrigan,  whose  work  on  fevers 
gave  him  a  reputation.  In  physic,  as  in  other 
things,  the  religious  question  entered  deeply. 
There  were  Catholic  hospitals,  and  one  im- 
portant purely  Protestant  hospital,  in  which 
a  standing  rule  was  that  no  "  Romanist  " 
priest  was  to  be  allowed  to  set  foot.  Sir 
Dominic  was  always  consulted  by  the  Catholic 
priests,  and  I  believe  was  physician  to  May- 
nooth  College — a  post  that  was  certain  to 
lead  to  advancement  in  the  profession.  The 
present  Sir  Francis  Cruise,  who  holds  one  of 
the  most  lucrative  practices  in  the  city,  has 
distinguished  himself  by  his  investigations 
into  the  life  of  Thomas  a  Kempis — and  his 
269 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

services  in  this  line  have  been  gratefully 
acknowledged  by  the  city  of  Kempen  in  Hol- 
land, which  has  recently  named  one  of  its 
streets  "  Kruis  Strasse." 

The  ecclesiastical  element  was  strongly 
developed  in  the  city,  owing  to  the  perpetual 
conflict  between  the  two  religions.  Dr. 
Whately  lived  in  a  vast  house  in  St.  Stephen's 
Green — "  the  Palace  " — the  door  of  which 
was  reached  by  an  enormous  flight  of  about 
twenty  steps.  The  stairs  and  rooms  were 
palatial.  The  Stephen's  Green  mansions  are 
indeed  fine  things.  Many  houses  of  far 
smaller  dimensions  boast  noble  chimney-pieces 
and  other  antique  glories.  I  recall  the  aston- 
ishment and  admiration  of  an  English  visitor 
who  surveyed  the  lock  of  our  hall  door,  a 
gigantic  oaken  box,  richly  embossed  in  brass 
scroll-work.  We  had  always  accepted  it  as 
a  quite  ordinary  thing.  Dr.  Whately  led 
a  life  entirely  apart — in  a  measure  solitary. 
He  conveyed  the  idea  of  an  uncongenial 
being,  quite  disgusted  with  his  banishment. 
270 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

This  was  conspicuous  in  his  soured  face  and 
lean  figure,  and  more  especially  in  his  sneering 
speeches  and  sarcasms  at  the  natives  and  their 
country,  which  were  constantly  circulated.  He 
must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  person  to 
have  dealings  with.  He  was  constantly  in  the 
Green  by  himself.  Equally  disagreeable  was 
his  fashion  of  making  butts  of  his  clergy, 
treating  them  to  ridiculous  conundrums  and 
foolish  jests.  This  seemed  to  come  of  his 
contempt  for  the  Irish  clergy,  whom  he  could 
scarcely  take  seriously  ;  he  found,  however,  a 
few  of  real  erudition,  such  as  the  late  Bishop 
Fitzgerald,  and  a  few  more  who  showed 
suitable  obsequiousness.  In  this  connection, 
he  received  a  happy  rebuke  from  Lever,  the 
novelist,  who  was  walking  with  him  and  his 
chaplain.  The  archbishop  picked  up  a  sort 
of  fungus,  which  he  gave  to  the  chaplain  to 
taste,  insisting  that  it  was  excellent.  The 
latter  was  enchanted,  declaring  that  "  with 
a  little  pepper  and  salt  it  would  be  quite 
a  delicacy."  He  then  offered  some  to 
271 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Lever.  "  No,  thank  you,  my  lord,"  said  the 
latter  ;  c<  I  am  not  a  clergyman,  and  though  I 
have  a  brother  in  orders,  he  is  not  in  your 
lordship's  diocese." 

Dr.  Trench,  as  the  world  knows,  was  an 
amiable,  accomplished,  and  most  interesting 
man,  with  a  truly  charming  family,  which  had 
quite  a  cachet  of  its  own.  All  of  them  have 
been  agreeable  and  interesting  people.  I  recall 
a  local  jest  made  on  his  appointment,  which  is 
not  "  half  bad."  How  did  he  differ  from  a 
maritime  canal  ?  Because  there  the  sea  was 
admitted  into  a  Trench,  here  the  Trench  was 
admitted  into  the  see.  I  fancy  he  had  a  very 
unhappy  time  of  it.  His  rough,  bigoted  clergy, 
who  were  but  half  Episcopalian,  would  hardly 
tolerate  even  an  old-fashioned  ritual.  He  was 
constantly  harassed  by  the  disputes  and  oppo- 
sition ;  he  was  too  refined  for  such  a  post. 
I  recall  his  amiable  wife's  expression  of  worry, 
when  I  was  once  dining  with  him,  as  she  said, 
"  Oh,  you  can't  know  what  we  have  to  go 
through ) "  I  fancy  he  often  looked  back 
272 


®P  of  Dublin  Society 

wistfully  to  the   old  happy  days    in    Dean's 
Yard. 

In  the  music  realm  jealousies  raged,  chiefly 
owing  to  the  mixture  of  the  amateur  and  pro- 
fessional elements.  There  was  nothing  local 
that  was  of  much  value — everything  was 
"made  in  England."  The  two  cathedrals  were 
the  bed-rock  or  basis  of  the  music  ;  but  they 
were  altogether  equipped  with  foreign  ele- 
ments. Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  it  was 
impossible  in  a  large  city  of  300,000  inhabi- 
tants to  find  trained  voices.  They  were 
regularly  imported,  the  basses,  tenors,  and 
those  extraordinary  freaks  of  nature,  the 
counter-tenors  ;  and  even  at  the  cathedral  of 
Armagh  the  service  was  carried  on  by  an 
English  colony.  All  these  caterers  aided 
their  ecclesiastical  work  by  giving  lessons  and 
singing  at  concerts.  They  were  Yoakley  (odd 
name  !),  and,  above  all,  the  three  Robinson 
brothers — Joe,  Frank,  and  William — Peele, 
Gray,  and  Hemsley,  and  many  more. 
Organists,  too,  had  to  be  secured  in  the  same 

273  s 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

fashion,  such  as  Dr.  Turle  at  Armagh.  There 
was,  however,  one  notable  native  musician,  an 
organist  of  the  first  class,  who  officiated  at  the 
cathedrals,  and  was  besides  director  of  the 
Trinity  College  Choral  Society,  Dr.  Stewart, 
later  Sir  Robert.  He  was  really  a  very 
accomplished  man,  a  good  and  lively  talker, 
a  pleasant  writer  and  critic,  a  composer  and 
conductor  with  a  very  up-to-date  knowledge 
of  modern  music.  There  are  few  more 
agreeable  musical  memoirs  than  the  account 
of  him  furnished  by  my  friend,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Vignoles.  His  wanderings  abroad,  to 
the  old  German  towns,  visiting  and  playing 
the  various  ancient  instruments,  with  his  re- 
marks on  their  capabilities,  make  very  agreeable 
reading,  and  recall  the  amiable  Dr.  Burney's 
"  Musical  Tour."  He  was  a  most  vivacious 
companion,  and  full  of  energy.  His  eccle- 
siastical compositions  are  well  known  at 
the  English  cathedrals,  where  "  Stewart's 
Anthems  in  A,  B,  or  C "  are  often  per- 
formed. 

2  74 


@f  of  Dublin  Society 

The  College  Society  meetings  just  men- 
tioned were  most  interesting  gatherings, 
held  in  the  Examination  Hall,  which  was 
crowded  with  gownsmen  and  their  fair 
friends.  There  was  often  some  composition 
of  the  conductor  performed,  such  as  "  The 
Winter's  Night  Wake,"  the  words  by  Dr. 
Waller,  a  local  poet.  These  efforts  were 
clever  enough,  though  scarcely  above  the 
standard  of  the  average  Maitre  de  Chapelle. 
Their  orchestration  in  these  advanced  days 
would  be  thought  rather  elementary.  I 
well  remember — it  is  now  a  good  fifty 
years — bringing  from  Aix  la  Chapelle  the 
lovely  prelude  to  Lohengrin,  which  I  had 
heard  with  rapture,  and  which  seemed  to 
bring  the  melodious  spirits  from  Heaven 
down  to  earth,  and  these  I  showed  with 
exultation  to  Dr.  Stewart.  To  my  astonish- 
ment, he  returned  them,  saying  that  he  had 
played  them  to  loud  laughter,  and  that  it 
was  "  all  sheer  madness."  Years  later,  I 
met  him  at  Drury  Lane,  coming  out  from 
275 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

the  Tristram,  when  he  had  completely 
fallen  under  the  spell,  and  now  thought 
that  every  note  of  the  Master  was  inspired  ! 

In  every  society,  and  at  every  period,  if  one 
only  has  observation  and  proper  discernment, 
one  can  notice  characters  just  as  original  and 
entertaining  as  any  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  tales. 
What  a  singular  original,  for  instance,  was  the 
Joe  Robinson  I  have  mentioned  !  He  was 
but  an  ordinary  teaching  musician,  but  was 
much  inflated  by  self-importance.  By  an  odd 
delusion,  he  seemed  to  be  always  conveying 
that  his  real  reputation  was  in  London,  where 
the  name  "  Joseph  Robinson,"  his  works  and 
composition,  were  household  words.  He 
talked  airily  of  all  the  great  guns — Mendels- 
sohn, Costa,  e  tutti  quanti.  I  remember, 
however,  that  when  Joachim  was  playing  in 
Dublin  (a  most  remarkable  afternoon),  the 
great  violinist  came  specially  to  his  house  and 
played  for  a  large  company,  "  Joe's  "  charming 
wife,  herself  a  composer  and  executant, 
accompanying  him.  This  brilliant  artiste, 
276 


<Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

to  the  grief  of  her  friends,  met  with  a  very 
disastrous  fate.  Indeed,  I  could  quote  half  a 
dozen  Dublin  musicians  of  eminence  who 
ended  in  the  same  unhappy  fashion.  I  fancy 
this  came  of  the  almost  desperate  precarious- 
ness  of  the  professional  life,  the  severe  com- 
petition, and  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  a 
show,  which  overtaxed  their  resources. 

Our  "  Joe  "  was  so  superior  to  local  merit, 
which  he  was  incessantly  depreciating,  that 
he  could  not  help  sacrificing  what  were  his 
own  most  serious  interests  to  support  his 
theory.  In  this  way  he  contrived  to  extin- 
guish various  languishing  societies,  though  it 
must  be  said  that  they  would  probably  have 
extinguished  themselves  ere  long.  Jealousies, 
however,  raged  between  the  various  musical 
factions,  which,  like  the  man  complacently 
sawing  through  the  branch  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  did  not  reckon  the  consequences  to 
themselves.  The  Irish  Academy  of  Music, 
with  its  professors,  was  jealously  regarded  by 
those  who  did  not  belong  to  it  ;  everybody 
277 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

wanted  to  teach  music  and  be  a  "  master  "  or 
"  mistress,"  and  there  were  not  pupils  enough 
"  to  go  round."  This  young  and  flourishing 
institution  owes  its  success  to  the  untiring, 
never-flagging  exertions  of  Sir  Francis  Brady* 
son  of  that  almost  perpetual  Chancellor  of 
Ireland,  Sir  Maziere  Brady,  supported  by  a 
few  others. 

It  was  melancholy  to  see  the  old  societies 
disappearing  one  after  the  other.  There  used 
to  be  an  Anacreontic  Society  whose  concerts 
were  very  delightful,  members  subscribing  for 
tickets  and  giving  them  to  their  friends.  That 
had  long  since  become  extinct.  The  good  old 
Philharmonic  soon  followed.  This,  too,  was 
an  interesting  body,  the  system  being  to  have 
a  semi-amateur,  semi-professional  orchestra, 
who  played  classical  symphonies,  &c.,  while  a 
star  from  London  was  engaged.  We  had  not 
yet  arrived  at  the  travelling-party  concert 
system.  The  orchestra  was  directed  and  the 
whole  administered  by  a  music-seller  in  Dame 
Street — the  worthy  Bussell,  a  name  anything 
278 


§P  of  Dublin  Society 

but  suggestive  of  his  style  of  conducting, 
which  was  of  a  torpid  sort,  and  which  caused 
much  amusement  to  the  imported  musicians. 
The  orchestra,  in  fact,  usually  conducted  him, 
and  he  would  jog  on  at  a  gentle  pace  some- 
what behind  them. 

Then  there  were  the  Ancient  Concerts,  for 
performance  of  oratorios,  the  venerable 
Messiah,  Elijah  and  the  rest,  "  Conductor — 
Mr.  Joseph  Robinson."  It  was,  however, 
impossible  to  get  the  Dublin  public  to  "take" 
to  this  work.  It  was  certainly  extraordinary 
that,  in  a  city  that  so  ostentatiously  claimed  to 
be  musical,  there  should  have  been  no  middle 
class,  as  there  is  in  all  the  large  English 
towns,  workers,  shopkeepers,  and  others,  who 
would  devote  some  of  their  time  to  music. 
It  is  really  a  phenomenon,  and  I  fear  must 
be  set  down  to  sheer  ignorance  and  lack  of 
taste.  It  was  extraordinary,  too,  in  so  large  a 
population,  what  a  dearth  of  orchestral 
players  there  was.  There  was  not  an  oboe- 
player  in  the  place  ;  and  when  a  concert  was 
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Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

given,  the  whole  "  reed  series  "  of  performers 
had  to  be  imported  en  bloc  from  Liverpool. 
Joe  once  told  me  that  a  good  clarionet-player, 
who  had  settled  there  on  the  chance  of  "  odd 
jobs,"  came  to  him  and  said  that  he  would 
like  to  stay  if  they  would  only  guarantee  him 
a  small  pittance.  Joe  said  it  was  impossible. 
He  at  last  pleaded  for  some  ridiculous  trifle, 
but  even  this  could  not  be  done,  so  he  packed 
up  his  clarionet  and  went  home.  The 
"Ancients"  accordingly  disappeared.  Joe 
then  founded  a  society  of  his  own,  and  on  his 
own  lines,  which  held  on  for  a  few  years ;  but 
this  too,  I  believe,  has  gone  into  the  Ewigkeit. 
But  though  perhaps,  speaking  generally,  the 
pretensions  of  Dublin  to  being  a  musical  city 
cannot  be  admitted,  it  must  be  said  that  about 
the  'sixties  there  was,  in  private  circles,  a 
surprisingly  accomplished  display  of  musical 
gifts,  and  an  eagerness  for  musical  perform- 
ance. There  was  a  small  coterie  of  enthusiasts, 
well  cultivated  in  the  best  traditions,  who 
devoted  themselves  to  these  displays.  There 
280 


@P  of  Dublin  Society 

were    the    Macdonnells,    Hercules    and    his 

gifted  wife,  the  two  Tennants,  the  F s, 

two  sisters,  one  a  fine  pianist,  a  favourite 
pupil  of  Thalberg's,  the  other  a  soprano  of 
unusual  merit,  and  with  these  elements  the 
ball  was  kept  rolling  merrily.  The  Mac- 
donnells were  intimate  with  the  great  Italian 
opera  set,  Costa,  Grisi,  Mario,  Tamburini, 
Lablache,  and  the  rest.  I  have  heard  him 
describe  Balfe  at  his  work,  busily  scoring  an 
opera  for  the  orchestra  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  while  the  Italians  were  at  work  at  the 
piano  singing  and  declaiming,  every  one  talking 
and  chattering,  the  maestro  himself  most  of 
all,  and  scoring  away  merrily  all  the  time. 

Mrs.  Macdonnell  had  a  superb  voice,  and 
could  sing  anything  in  the  primadonna's  rfyer- 
toire.  We  had  constant  recitals  of  entire  operas, 
Don  Giovanni,  Lucrezia  Borgia,  Lucia,  Don 
Pasquale,  and  //  Trovatore,  with  full  chorus,  all 
well  trained,  and  conducted  by  "Joe  "  Robin- 
son. Many  of  these  recitals  were  given  in 

Mrs.    G 's    tiny    house,    to   which     the 

ill 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

admiring  Lord  Carlisle  was  invariably  de- 
lighted to  come  with  all  his  staff,  while,  with 
mouth  opened  wider  than  usual,  he  seemed 
to  draw  in  by  that  aperture  all  the  sweet 
sounds.  Sometimes  there  were  "  puppet 
shows  "  at  the  Ancient  Concert  Rooms  with 
the  same  excellent  corps ;  Don  Giovanni  was 
given  in  this  fashion,  the  singers  being  con- 
cealed from  view,  and  a  miniature  theatre  being 
fitted  up  in  front  of  the  puppets,  which  were 
correctly  dressed,  and  worked  by  unseen  hands. 
I  confess  it  seemed  rather  a  dull  performance. 
The  old  Theatre  Royal  had  been  directed 
— if  direction  it  could  be  called — for  a  long 
series  of  years  by  a  well-known  character,  Mr. 
Cole,  a  gentleman  by  birth,  who  was  known 
by  the  name  of  Calcraft — I  have  little  doubt, 
in  order  to  save  the  feelings  of  a  noble  family. 
His  was  a  most  extraordinary  managerial 
career,  reckless  enough,  with  alternate  success 
and  desperate  failure  ;  yet,  he  was  a  good 
fellow,  and  had  made  friends;  so  that  they 
were  always  good-natured,  and  some,  like 
282 


&P  of  Dublin  Society 

Charles  Kean,  would  come  over  specially  to 
do  him  a  good  turn.  He  contrived  somehow 
to  keep  the  old  theatre  open  for  a  great 
number  of  years.  At  last  he  had  to  give  it 
up,  and  his  friend  Kean  gave  him  the  berth 
of  secretary  or  something  of  the  kind  at  the 
Princess's  during  the  Shakespeare  revivals. 
In  return,  he  wrote  a  rhapsodical  panegyric 
or  life  of  his  patron. 

The  direction  being  now  vacant,  one 
Harris,  said  to  be  of  the  family  of  the  managing 
Harrises  of  Co  vent  Garden,  stepped  in  and 
took  up  the  reins.  This  was  a  very  shrewd 
and  ardent  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  the 
Harris  talent,  as  was  shown  in  the  case  of  my 
poor  friend  Augustus  of  that  ilk,  who  in 
exactly  the  same  fashion  rescued  old  Drury 
from  destruction.  It  was  wonderful  how  he 
restored  public  confidence,  and  brought  the 
theatre  to  be,  instead  of  a  desponding,  ram- 
shackle place,  a  respectable  and  flourishing 
establishment.  Harris  became  a  household 
name  in  Dublin,  and  his  reign  went  on  for  a 
283 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

good  many  years.  He  was  the  first  to  find 
out  Craven,  the  Lyceum  artist,  and  I  was 
always  grateful  to  him  for  getting  Telbin, 
that  charming  artist,  to  paint  his  drop  scene. 
But  at  last  a  tide  of  ill-luck  overtook 
him,  his  various  ventures  came  to  grief, 
and  it  was  said  that  the  sudden  presentation 
of  an  alarming  bill  of  costs  drove  him  to 
suicide. 

In  this  matter  of  music  our  dear  country 
folk  are  ever  claiming  to  be  something  that 
they  are  not,  and  to  be  that  something  in  a 
most  astonishing  way.  The  claim,  constantly 
put  forward,  that  they  are  the  most  passion- 
ately musical  portion  of  the  three  kingdoms 
is  the  most  ludicrous  of  these  pretensions, 
which  are  founded  on  riotous  or  disorderly 
pantomimic  proceedings  carried  on  at  opera 
time.  At  one  season  it  was  the  diva  of  the 
moment — Piccolomini  or  Titiens  or  Patti,  or 
whoever  it  might  be — who  was  victimised, 
frantically  roared  at  and  acclaimed,  having 
to  submit,  to  their  great  disgust,  to  being 
284 


®f  of  Dublin  Society 

dragged  home  every  night  to  the  hotel,  then 
having  to  come  out  on  the  balcony  and  make 
a  speech.  All  this  was  simply  got  up  "  for 
a  lark,"  as  it  was  regularly  organised.  It 
was  taken  quite  seriously  by  the  newspapers 
and  manager ;  the  latter  co-operated  with 
these  noisy  fellows,  and  allowed  them  facilities 
before  the  doors  were  opened,  by  which 
strings  were  run  from  the  gallery  to  the 
stage,  which  carried  a  bird-cage,  all  gilt,  to 
the  feet  of  the  prima  donna.  Then  between 
the  acts  there  was  chorusing,  or  a  fellow  with 
a  good  baritone  voice  would  give  //  'Balen, 
the  mob  joining  in  the  chorus.  Often  the 
scene  was  hindered  from  beginning,  because 
these  turbulent  fellows  had  not  finished  their 
performance,  and  the  stage  had  to  wait.  As 
I  said,  all  this  nonsense  was  accepted  as 
evidence  of  the  highest  musical  taste.  Where, 
it  was  asked — in  Manchester,  Birmingham, 
or  any  English  town — would  you  find  such 
Italian  enthusiasm  ?  Which  was  the  truth. 
As  I  have  shown,  concerts,  societies  for 
285 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

performing  classical  music,  have  been  tried 
again  and  again,  but  found  no  support.  All 
the  old  societies,  Philharmonic,  Ancient  Con- 
certs, Harmonic,  have  died  out  one  after 
the  other  from  inanition.  These  uproarious 
admirers  of  prima  donnas  can  understand 
little  of  Wagner  or  Handel,  though  they 
are  rapturous  over  the  vocal  gymnastics  of  a 
Patti.  Of  course,  let  some  one  come  and 
chant  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  or  "  The 
Meetin'  of  the  Waters,"  and  the  welkin  is 
rapt  with  applause.  No  one  believed  so 
firmly  in  this  pretended  idolatry  of  music  as 
Lord  Carlisle.  He  used  to  attend  the  theatre 
specially  to  hear  this  riotous  admiration  dis- 
played, or,  as  it  were,  see  the  drunken  helots 
dance.  English  friends  on  a  visit  to  him 
were  brought  to  see  a  specimen  of  this  all  but 
frantic  devotion  to  musical  art  :  "  So  like  the 
Italian  crowd,  you  know." 

These  high  jinks  were  truly  extraordinary. 
The  whole  city  seemed  to  partake  of  the  ex- 
citement.    The  singers  would  good-naturedly 
286 


ftP  of  Dublin  Society 

consent  to  sing  on  the  Sunday  at  the  Catholic 
Churches,  such  as  the  Marlborough  Street 
Cathedral,  places  they  perhaps  never  visited 
under  other  conditions,  and  there  they  would 
put  forth  all  their  powers  ;  needless  to  say, 
the  receipts  were  enormous. 

It  was  indeed  a  general  gala.  The  bills 
announced  "  Augmented  Orchestra,"  which 
signified  that  every  instrument  that  could  be 
secured  was  pressed  into  the  service.  The 
managers  were  obliged,  for  safety's  sake,  to 
bring  a  few  "  leading  "  performers  with  them, 
with  the  exception,  oddly  enough,  of  what 
was  the  most  important  of  all  leading  instru- 
ments, the  first  violin.  This  was  a  worthy 
local  player,  R.  M.  Levey,  who  had  been 
scraping  and  fiddling  beyond  the  memory  of 
man.  He  was  not  to  be  disturbed,  and  so 
he  always  "  led,"  after  his  fashion,  the  full 
orchestra.  There  was  also  Herr  Eisner,  who 
"  came  on  "  as  first  'cello.  In  all,  there  were 
not,  I  think,  more  than  thirty  or  forty. 
The  most  popular  of  the  conductors  was 
287 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

Arditi — "Ah  Ditty"  he  was  always  called, 
and  he  was  shouted  for  and  cheered  whenever 
he  made  his  appearance. 

What  delightful  things  we  saw  at  that 
old  theatre  in  our  childish  days !  This 
coming  of  the  Italian  Opera  was  a  glimpse 
of  paradise,  waited  for  impatiently  ;  the  days, 
the  very  hours,  counted  until  the  great 
singers  came.  At  the  box-office  was  "  old 
Barry,"  a  retired  actor,  one  of  those  solid, 
legitimate  fellows — like  old  Granby — who 
had  known  or  met  every  famous  performer, 
and  had  wonderful  stories  of  them.  Old 
Barry  at  all  times  delighted  in  showing  himself 
a  rough  customer,  a  very  rough  one  indeed. 
It  was  always,  "  Now,  ma'am,  I  haven't  time 
to  attend  to  you.  Don't  bother  me  now," 
etc.  But  when  the  Italians  were  coming,  and 
the  worthy  was  surrounded  in  his  little  hutch 
by  ladies  generally  clamouring  for  places,  he 
threw  off  all  the  decencies.  He  knew  his 
power.  It  was  then  :  "  My  good  lady,  d'ye 
think  I'm  a  fool  to  be  listening  to  this !  T 
288 


ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

tell  ye,  I've  no  places  for  you."  "  Ah,  but 
my  dear  Mr.  Barry,  if  you  only  knew  ! — da 
oblige  me,  just  two  places."  "  Indeed,  I  will 
not,  my  good  lady.  You  go  away  now."  And 
so  on  ;  not  that  the  worthy  fellow  was  in  the 
least  annoyed ;  he  revelled  in  it.  Prices 
were  raised,  then,  to  the  vast  sum  of  eight 
shillings,  invariably — only  think  ! — for  "  the 
boxes  and  dress-boxes."  The  dress-boxes 
had,  I  think,  five  rows  of  stiff  uncomfortable 
benches  with  an  iron  rail  at  the  back,  while 
at  each  end  the  seat,  your  seat,  was  tilted  up 
to  let  the  front  row  occupants  get  to  their 
places.  But  who  cared  for  ease  then,  when 
such  artists  as  Grisi,  Mario,  Lablache  were 
to  be  heard,  or  Piccolomini,  or  Gardoni, 
or  Giuglini  ("  Jugleeny "  he  was  often 
called!)  Every  one  came  in  their  best  gala 
dress,  and  I  can  assure  you  the  dress-boxes 
made  a  brave  show.  It  seemed  more  oper- 
atic than  what  now  obtains,  for  there  was 
such  rapturous  enthusiasm !  People  then 
went  for  the  singing,  and  the  orchestra  was 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

simply  a  sort  of  enlarged  pianoforte  to 
accompany  them,  and  was  hushed  down. 
And  fancy  on  the  hoardings,  "  Mr.  Calcraft 
(i.e.,  Cole)  has  the  pleasure  to  announce  that 
he  has  engaged  Madame  Grisi,  Signor  Mario, 
Signer  Lablache,  Signor  Ronconi,  Signor 
Tamburini,"  &c. 

Can  I  ever  forget  Norma,  that  noble  drama 
and  fine  music,  the  Grand  Priestess  with  her 
classical  head  :  with  the  entrancing  Casta 
diva,  which  would  throw  the  whole  theatre 
into  a  sort  of  surging  rapture,  the  mob  aloft 
shrieking,  roaring,  and  yelling  even.  The 
Sonnambula,  too,  with  its  enchanting  music  and 
gay  polacca !  We  were  all,  so  to  speak,  carried 
off  our  feet  by  these  artistes,  so  that  we  dreamt 
of  them,  thought  of  them,  hummed  the  music 
all  the  day,  and  could  talk  of  nothing  else. 
This  feeling  we  have  not  nowadays,  nor  any- 
thing like  it.  It  was  simply  because  the 
voicing  was  so  exquisite,  so  enchanting  ;  as 
Lamb  says,  "  There  earth  touched  heaven." 
Another  gem  that  lingers  in  memory,  and  had 
290 


Sf  of  Dublin  Society 

an  unending  memory,  was  the  last  scene  in 
Lucia,  the  Fra  Poco,  with  Edgardo  among 
the  tombs  in  his  black  velvet ;  and  what  a 
pathetic  air  it  is,  especially  when  the  orchestra 
strikes  up  the  second  portion,  which,  though 
in  a  brisker  measure,  goes  to  the  heart.  I 
should  not  care  to  tell  my  friends  that  I  have 
heard  Rubini  in  this  captivating  part.  Nay,  I 
have  heard  Mrs.  Wood,  not  Mrs.  John  of  that 
ilk,  but  the  famous  cantatrice,  wife  of  Lord 
W.  Lennox.  I  recollect  her  distinctly  as 
the  Jewess  in  the  opera  of  that  name,  about  to 
be  consigned  to  the  furnace.  Gardoni,  too, 
a  charming  singer,  and  many  more,  all 
passed  before  us  to  the  same  tumultuous 
greeting.  Catherine  Hayes,  in  Norma,  threw 
the  whole  city  into  convulsions  of  delight,  but 
this  was  mainly  on  account  of  her  being  a 
native  ;  still,  she  had  a  pleasing,  well- 
cultivated  voice,  and  was  an  interesting 
dramatic  creature.  We  juveniles  of  the  pit 
were  all  thrown  into  a  fever  by  her  attractions, 
and  attended  night  after  night.  That  capti- 
291 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

vating  little  singer,  Piccolomini,  was  often 
called,  even  by  educated  persons,  "  Titcholo- 
meeney ! "  I  myself  once  heard  an  eminent 
judge  talk  of  the  great  French  politician  as 
"  Mount  a  Lambert." 

One  of  the  most  melancholy  spectacles 
conceivable  was  the  last  appearance  of  that 
true  diva,  Grisi,  at  the  Theatre  Royal.  It 
was  her  farewell  ;  I  think  her  very  last 
appearance.  She  had  not  been  heard  for 
many  years,  but  somehow  her  old  splendid 
tradition  lingered  on.  It  was  Lucrezia, 
and  great  was  the  expectancy.  The  first 
shock  was  the  spectacle  of  so  antique  and 
well-worn  a  dame  ;  but  what  was  it  when  she 
came  to  essay  "  runs "  and  high  notes  and 
such  gymnastics  ?  Each  effort  was  accom- 
panied by  a  contortion  of  face,  showing  the 
pain  there  was  to  accomplish  the  business;  and 
then  her  voice  itself — what  an  inharmonious 
screech!  The  natives,  I  am  glad  to  say,  did 
not  laugh  or  jeer;  but  they  were  discreetly 
silent  from  astonishment  and  amusement, 
292 


SP  of  Dublin  Society 

and  yet  all  her  songs  had  been  "let  down." 
Mario,  too,  lagged  inglorious  on  the  scene 
until  he  came  at  last  to  do  little  more  than 
speak  in  whispers — a  shattered  piece  of 
debris. 

What  enchanting  things  were  the  operas  of 
the  old  days  !  I  love  the  present  system  of 
opera  as  much  as  anybody,  and  am  a  frantic 
admirer  of  the  New  Music.  But  in  those 
Norma  and  Sonnambula  days,  bless  you  !  it 
was  another  thing  altogether.  Those  of  the 
present  generation  cannot  understand ;  because 
they  have  no  standard  with  which  to  compare 
their  present  music.  There  rises  before  me 
at  this  moment  many  an  enchanting  scene, 
say  the  quartette  in  the  Puritani  or  the 
polacca — not  a  sound,  not  a  whisper  in  the 
audience — all  enrapt,  entranced  !  There  was 
no  intrusive  accompaniment,  no  noisy  brass, 
or  braying;  it  was  all  pure  voicing;  people 
listened  to  catch  the  soft  tender  whisperings 
and  harmonies,  which  it  was  quite  easy 
to  do. 

293 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

One  of  the  most  characteristic  scenes  oc- 
curred during  an  engagement  of  Sims  Reeves 
and  some  great  prima  donna ,  tempore  Calcraft. 
Lucia  was  announced,  but  there  had  been 
a  fight  with  the  manager  on  the  question  of 
cash,  and  the  tenor  positively  refused  to  appear 
unless  his  claim  was  met.  The  manager  put 
one  of  his  corps  into  the  part  and  Lucia 
was  produced.  The  scene  that  follows  defies 
description.  The  substitute  was  a  German 
named  awkwardly  Herr  Damke,  and  the  dis- 
appointed galleries  made  numerous  jests  on 
"  damned  key,"  &c. :  but  when  it  was  found 
that  he  was  a  wretched  poor  creature  who 
could  not  sing  at  all,  all  the  mirth  changed 
to  fury.  At  last,  attempting  a  high  note,  his 
voice  gave  way  in  a  ludicrous  manner.  Lucia 
made  him  a  low  curtsey  and  quitted  the  stage, 
and  the  whole  theatre  was  in  a  riot.  The 
manager  came  and  declared  it  was  not  his 
fault ;  Mr.  Reeves  had  refused  to  sing ;  he 
had  no  one  to  put  in  his  place.  Suddenly 
Reeves,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  boxes, 
294 


&  of  Dublin  Society 

appeared  on  the  stage  beside  the  manager,  and 
in  a  rather  defiant  and  threatening  fashion 
contradicted  him  to  loud  cheers.  After  a 
heated  discussion,  Reeves  declared  to  the 
audience  that  he  would  not  sing  for  Calcraft  ; 
but  for  them  it  was  a  different  matter ;  and  at 
that  moment,  if  they  desired  it,  he  was  ready 
to  perform.  Cheers  rent  the  air,  the  singer 
rushed  to  don  the  hapless  Damke's  dress, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  singing  Edgardo 
in  a  more  passionate  style  than  he  had  ever 
done  before. 

In  the  earlier  portion  of  this  little  collection, 
I  mentioned  some  tales  of  the  Dublin  modistes 
and  of  their  patronage  by  her  present  amiable 
Majesty.  To  one  of  these  artists,  engaged  in 
submitting  patterns  and  measuring,  H.R.H.  re- 
marked— so  went  the  story — "Now, Mrs. , 

will  you  fill  me  in  a  little  at  the  back."    On 

which   Mrs. ,   turning  to  her  assistant : 

"  Mind,  Miss ,  as  to  Her  Royal  Highness  s 

vacancy."    A  speech  that  caused  great  amuse- 
ment in  the  Royal  circle,  specially  to  His  R.H. 
295 


Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

At  a  dinner-party  we  were  all  amused  at 
an  obstreperous  fellow  humorously  disputing 
with  a  very  fair  neighbour.  "  What's  the 
matter  ? "  said  the  host.  "  Why,  here's 

Miss wanting  to  father  on  me  something 

that  I  never  did."     We  all  felt  for  the  poor 
girl.     I  once  heard  an  honest  patriot  say  in  a 

London    drawing-room  :   "  Ah,   Miss  , 

you're  Irish  to  your  backbone  " — a  compli- 
ment not  much  relished  by  the  lady.  Alas, 
for  us  poor  Pats  !  They  look  down  on  us  all 
— though  not  disinclined  to  patronise.  Even 
the  faithful,  good-humoured  yellow  terrier — 
though  highly  popular  and  in  fashion — is 
considered  "  so  very  Irish  " — and,  it  must 
be  said,  has  a  physiognomy  and  gait  that 
strangely  recalls  his  human  fellow  country- 
men. I  once  heard  a  clever  Irishman  give  a 
lecture  on  the  Irish  stage,  in  which,  after 
dwelling  on  the  number  of  actors  and  actresses 
of  Irish  birth — which  is  indeed  astonishing — 
he  proceeded  to  "  claim  "  various  performers, 
such  as  Mrs.  Siddons.  For,  at  one  not  very 
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ftf  of  Dublin  Society 

flourishing  period  of  her  life,  she  was  under 
the  patronage  of  an  Irish  peeress.  "  Now," 
said  our  friend  with  all  gravity,  "  is  it  not 
likely  that  if  she  had  not  been  thus  befriended, 
she  would  never  have  reached  to  fame  :  and 
so  it  came  about,  you  see,  that  this  Irish 
influence  determined  her  success."  There 
was  applause.  But  the  gay  and  mercurial 
Charles  Wyndham,  who  was  presiding,  at 
this  worked  himself  into  a  state  of  comic 
indignation.  "  Good  Heavens  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Mrs.  Siddons  an  Irishwoman  ! 
What  next  ?  After  this  I  begin  to  tremble 
for  Shakespeare,  who  makes  Hamlet  quote 
St.  Patrick."  And  this  pleasant  vein  he 
pursued  for  a  long  time. 

One  can  always  turn  to  the  obituary  notices 
for  entertainment,  and  here,  strange  to  say, 
we  do  not  find  so  much  praises  of  the 
deceased  as  testimonies  to  the  sore  grief 
of  the  survivors.  He  is  always  "  deeply 
regretted  by  his  sorrowing  wife  and  children," 
or  to  "the  inexpressible  grief  of  his  family." 
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Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

This  is  the  regular  shape,  though  one  thinks 
the  fact  might  be  assumed  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Another  common  "  form  "  is  to 
inform  the  public  that  he  departed  "  after  a 
long  and  tedious  illness."  Tedious  by  all 
means,  but  to  whom  ?  Painful  and  agonizing 
no  doubt  the  poor  patient  found  it ;  but 
"  tediousness "  is  the  last  thing  he  would 
think  of.  For  the  "  sorrowing  relatives  "  it 
was,  perhaps,  tedious  enough. 

I  have  now  gossiped  long  enough,  and 
have  fairly  emptied  my  wallet.  As  I  draw  to 
a  close,  the  image  of  a  pleasant  creature — 
Bob  G ,  full  of  fun,  frolic,  and  reckless- 
ness— one  of  the  last  of  the  old  Irish  squireens, 
rises  before  me.  There  were  endless  stories 
of  Bob  and  his  escapades — his  drink,  &c. 
Once,  finding  himself  out  of  funds  (for  this 
latter  purpose),  his  pockets  empty,  he  entered 
an  undertaker's  office,  and  describing  at  length 
a  recent  demise  in  his  family,  asked  earnestly 
about  interment  "  on  the  handsomest  scale,'* 
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&  of  Dublin  Society 

made  an  agreement,  then,  feeling  "  faint," 
asked  for  some  of  the  usual  restorative.  This 
was  eagerly  furnished,  and  Bob,  having  con- 
sumed as  much  as  he  desired,  rose  and  made 
for  the  door.  "  But,  sir,"  said  the  under- 
taker eagerly,  "the  body?"  "Ah,  my 
friend,"  said  the  humorous  Bob,  "that  is 
for  you.  You  II  have  to  find  the  body." 

Another  story  told  of  Bob  is  better,  and  is 
good  evidence  of  his  shrewdness.  He  had 
been  at  some  country  ball,  where  he  had 
been  philandering  it  all  night  with  a  pretty 
little  Privateer,  daughter — or  one  of  the 
daughters,  for  she  had  a  sister — of  a  country 
attorney,  a  class  of  professionals  whom  Bob 
never  named  without  a  devout  "saving 
your  -presence!"  Bob,  as  his  wont  was,, 
had  been  also  priming  himself  with  drink, 
and  by  about  three  in  the  morning  had 
committed  himself  so  far  as  to  propose  in 
form.  No  sooner  was  the  act  done  than  he 
was  conscious  of  his  folly,  and  only  thought 
how  he  could  extricate  himself.  Now,  how 
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Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

would  you,  clever  reader  ?  Exercise  your  wit, 
and  devise  something — but  you  can't.  I  could 
imagine  no  more  difficult  problem.  But  Bob 
was  a  fertile  fellow — it  was  child's  play  to 
him.  What  do  you  think  he  did?  The 
young  lady,  as  we  have  seen,  had  a  sister, 
who  was  just  returning  from  her  dancing 
as  her  sister  was  seen  hurrying  down  to  the 
supper-room  to  acquaint  the  father  with  the 
joyful  news.  Bob  danced  \viththis  girJ,  made 
desperate  love  to  her,  and  actually  within  a 
few  minutes  had  proposed  to  her!  The 
rest  was  easy  :  for  the  two  girls  came  with 
the  same  story  to  their  sire,  who  of  course 
said  they  were  a  pair  of  fools  ;  that  nothing 
"tangible,  sur,"  could  be  founded  on  the 
joint  act.  It  was  Bob  all  over. 

I    have    spoken  of   the   Dublin   carmen. 
Here  is  an  instance  of  their  pleasant  sagacity. 

A  returned    missionary,    the    Rev.    W 

S d,  who  was  made  much  of,  was  invited 

to  dine  by  a  person  whose  name  at  the  last 

moment  he  had  forgotten,  though  he  recalled 

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<§?  of  Dublin  Society 

that  of  his  residence,  which  was  in  Harcourt 
Street.  "  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  he  said  to  his 
driver.  "  O,  nivir  mind,  sorr,"  was  the  reply, 
"  I'll  find  him  for  you."  "  But  you  can't,  my 
good  friend.  How  are  you  to  look  for  him,  as 
you  don't  know  his  name  ?  It's  impossible." 
And  so  it  seemed.  "  O,  lave  it  to  me,  sorr." 
Accordingly  he  drove  to  Harcourt  Street, 
and,  beginning  at  the  top,  knocked  at  each 
door,  making  the  one  inquiry  until  he  got 
halfway  down,  when  he  gaily  rejoined  his 
employer.  "  It's  all  right,  sorr — it's  here  !  " 
And  what  was  his  simple  inquiry  ?  "  Does 

the  Rev.  Father  S d  live  here  ?  "    "  No." 

At  last  he  received  the  answer,  "No,  he 
doesn't  :  but  we  are  expecting  him  to 
dinner."  The  ready  and  ingenious  fellow 
was  thus  successful. 

At  one  time  we  had  a  sapient,  slow-moving 
butler  in  our  house,  of  whom  it  might  be  said, 
as  it  was  of  a  certain  Chancellor,  "  No  one  ever 
was  so  wise  as  he  looked."  There  was  a 
notable  conflagration  in  Dublin  which  our 
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Recollections  of  Dublin  Castle 

.friend  witnessed,  or  said  he  did.  We 
used  specially  to  ask  him  to  tell  the  tale. 
"Dodds,  you  saw  the  great  fire  of  18 — ?" 
"  'Deed,  and  I  did,  sir  !  "  «  Well,  tell  us  all 
about  it."  "  You  see,  sir,  it  was  this  way. 
I  had  gone  to  bed — much  as  usual — but 
somehow  I  didn't  feel  quite  aisy.  Still,  I  went 
to  sleep.  Then  I  woke,  and  I  saw  on  the 
window  a  sort  of  flashing  like,  goin'  up  and 
down,  you  know.  Well,  sir,  I  sat  up,  and  I 
said  to  myself,  '  Now,  what's  this — what  does 
it  mean?'  Then  it  went  down  ;  then  it  got 
up  again — and  after  a  while  I  lay  back  and 
went  to  sleep.  Well,  sir,  after  a  while  I 
woke  again — and  there,  shure  enough,  was  the 
dartin'  up  and  down  again.  Then  I  sat  up 
and  I  said  to  myself,  *  Now,  could  this  be — 
a  fire  ? '  And  after  looking  on  for  a  time  I 
said,  '  Why  it  must  be  a  fire.'  Then  I  heard 
the  people  shoutin'  and  runnin'  through  the 
street,  and  the  rumblin'  o'  the  engines  ;  and 
then,  sir,  I  knew  it  was  a  fire — I  was  certain 
of  it.  Well,  sir,  would  you  believe  it— it 
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SP  of  Dublin  Society 

turned  out  next  morning  I  was  quite  right, 
and  all  the  papers  were  full  of  the  terriblest 
fire  that  had  been  seen  in  Dublin  ! " 

"  Well,  you  found  it  out  in  time,  Dodds." 
"  Yes,  sir,  though  at  first  I  wasn't  sure  ; 
but  at  last  I  knew  there  was  a  fire." 

The  Native  has  no  more   to  tell,  so  he 
takes  ofF  his  caubeen  and  makes  his  bow. 


THE   END 


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